


The First Citizen

by KingofTrees



Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Conflict, Conspiracy, Earth Empire, F/M, Fascism, It gets heavier, Political Allusions, Pro-Kuvira! Bolin, Technology, season 4
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-14 09:21:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,080
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3405446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KingofTrees/pseuds/KingofTrees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Bolin signs up to join Kuvira's Unification Corps, he's sent on a three-year journey of retaking the Earth Kingdom from the ground up.  And at the crucial moment, Bolin chooses the Great Uniter over everyone he had ever known. </p><p> Empire!Bolin. Multiple POVs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Farewells and Fealty

**Author's Note:**

> Basically, this fic is exploring an AU that can be summarized as: "What if Bolin never left the service of Kuvira?"
> 
> Naturally, such a game-changing AU would need some sort of context. So this fic is also exploring what the Inner Circle got up to before the events of Season Four.
> 
> Reviews are my lifeblood, I can't do much to improve my fic without reviews of any sort. Hell, leave a note or a follow if the story pleases you so much.
> 
> Anyway, enough talk. Let's get to it!

** **The First Citizen** **

**Prologue: Farewells and Fealty**

_Two months after Korra's departure for the South_

Bolin is attempting to push a luggage box as heavy as him up a flight of stairs, and is failing miserably.

He's packed everything he can think of; all his clothes, including his pro-bending uniform that he'll never wear again, his personal effects, even an ample amount of his favourite pig-sheep gyoza that Mako cooked up for him as part of the farewell feast that his brother had hosted in his honour. Bolin did not realise that his life's belongings would be so heavy.

He shoves his shoulder into the massive truck and pushes with as much strength as he can muster, moving the suitcase another inch before Bolin groans out of exertion, jumping out of the way as the suitcase crashes and bangs right back to the base of the staircase leading to the entrance to Central City Station. Opal laughs at this failed display of strength out of a mixture of amusement and pity. Bolin doesn't mind - as far as he's concerned, Opal's laugh is the best sound he's ever heard, and he'd do anything to hear it. Opal moves over to Bolin and offers him a hand up, which Bolin takes.

"You're such a drama queen, Bolin," she tells him with a smile. "It can't be that heavy."

"I dunno, Opal," Bolin ruffles the back of his head in bemusement. "I may have the biggest biceps in the United Republic, but I think we're going to need Naga to shift this block."Opal pinches his forearms, laughing again at Bolin's mock arrogance.

"Maybe you should stop thinking with your biceps and start thinking with your head. What's the suitcase resting on?

"Bolin doesn't answer Opal, but he approaches the pavement that lines the entrance to Central City Station, scratching his head in puzzlement as he strokes the dirty concrete that his monster of a suitcase rests on, sniffing the dust that comes away on his fingers. He tastes the dust, which sets off Opal's giggling again, and he notes nothing unusual about the flavour. Completely stumped, he stands up straight and turns to Opal, shrugging. He doesn't know the answer to her riddle. Opal smiles and ruffles his hair, which causes Bolin to tut and try to flatten it again. He'd spent longer than usual combing it to perfection today; he had to look good for his new boss.

"Let me rephrase that. What can you bend?"

Bolin stares at her for one moment, before palming his forehead. His cheeks are burning with embarrassment at his moment of idiocy.

"Why didn't I think of that?!" Opal laughs at this display of shame as she takes a bao quan stance and clears her voice.

"For unlike you, young cricket-bee," she narrates in a high-pitched, Air Nation accent, "I am a wise sage in the arts of mental stimulation, and have years of experience in the skills of logical thinking. You, on the other hand, could not think your way out of a paper bag!" Bolin laughs heartily at the impression; it's clear that Meelo's unorthodox method of teaching has begun to rub off on her. He raises his hands in mock surrender.

"Alright, oh wise and most intelligent sage of wisdom. I didn't think about earthbending the case to my train. Classic me."

Opal crosses her arms and watches with interest as Bolin takes a niunian-pingwen stance behind the case, his legs positioned evenly apart and his elbows drawn into his chest. He begins to breathe deeply, letting the air flow out his nose as he reaches into the pool of chi that dwells at the base of his spine, feeling alive with power as the energy flows through his veins and into his fists, empowering him with the ability to move mountains. The concrete sings to him; it lies inert, waiting for a master to reshape and remould it to their desire. It buzzes with energy, completely receptive to his touch. He takes a step forward, dislodging the pavement stone underneath the case, and begins to push upwards. Someone lays a hand on his shoulder while he's focused on bending the stone up, and he turns his head to see who would risk disturbing a bender mid-motion.

"If you continue bending the city's property, I'm going to have to fine you."

Bolin grins and drops the chunk of stone, offering his interrupter a handshake.

"Nice to see you, bro!"

Mako smiles in response, taking the handshake and shaking it with gusto. He nods a greeting at Opal, who places her hands on her hips and returns the gesture.

"Hi, Mako. Nice to see you again. Where's Asami?" Mako shrugs.

"She said she'd meet us in the station. She had to talk to a client of hers before she says goodbye to Bolin."

"Speaking of getting into the station..." Opal jerks a thumb at Bolin, who is once again trying to push the suitcase up the stairs. "Got any ideas what to do with that monster of a case?" Mako places his hands on his hips, amused by Bolin's struggle against his suitcase, and he decides to intervene.

"Bolin, you know the station has porters for these sort of things, right?" Bolin dives out of the path of the suitcase as it clatters to the bottom of the steps again. He wipes the dust off his hands and goes to sit on the case, breathing heavily from the exercise that comes from trying to push something of equal weight up an incline.

"They do?! I didn't see any!"

"They must be hanging around the entrance to the station. I'll go and call some down for you." As Mako begins to ascend the steps, Bolin grins sheepishly at Opal, who's laughing at their shared idiocy. The idea that there would be porters didn't occur to them.

"Classic Bolin."

"Hey, you didn't think there would be porters either. You're behaving every bit as classic as I am today. Who wanted me to earthbend the pavement again?" Opal punches him half-heartedly in the shoulder in response.

"Shut up," she laughs. Bolin takes her mirth as an opportunity to move in for an embrace, wrapping his arms around her as they share in each other's laughter. Bolin wouldn't trade places with anyone else in the world right now; he's hasn't felt this happy with anyone else in a long time.

"I'm really going to miss you, you know," Opal's face is buried in Bolin's shirt, her voice muffled by the coarse fabric.

"Me too, Opal. Me too." Bolin senses movement out of the corner of his vision, and turns to see Mako accompanying four porters who are built like gemsboks. He waves at them to come over, and the couple break their embrace to join him at the entrance to the station.

Asami's waiting for them at the top, immaculate as ever. The automobile tycoon is wearing a business suit, the cogwheel logo of her family's corporation emblazoned on the shoulders of her crimson-black blazer, and she's quietly discussing something with an aide wearing a slightly less ornate copy of her uniform. She has been very busy with company business, and coming out here to say goodbye hasn't stopped her from working. She motions for the aide to leave her when she notices the trio walking up the stairs alongside four very unlucky porters, standing up and smiling forlornly. She wasn't happy when Bolin told his friends that he had decided to join up with Kuvira's interim government, and she was especially unhappy when he revealed Varrick and his faithful assistant would be coming alongside him as well. The wounds caused by his attempt at a hostile takeover were still raw, and it was only when Bolin convinced Asami that Varrick wouldn't be there at the station with them that she relented and agreed to come say her goodbyes. She brushes a loose hair away from her eyes and places a hand on Bolin's shoulder, looking at the men struggling to lower his suitcase onto a trolley.

"Are you sure you packed enough stuff, Bolin? You know it can get very cold around certain provinces of the kingdom."

"Now that you mention it, I'm pretty sure that I forgot my collection of erhus." They share a laugh at that, and Mako goes to tip the porters as they approach with Bolin's luggage. Bolin thanks them and grabs the handles of the trolley, pushing the luggage with ease compared to his attempts beforehand.

"What platform are you heading towards, bro?"

"Platform 14. Apparently it's a private train track that they use for important guests. Kuvira must have pulled some strings to be allowed to dock her train there. In fact, she won't be arriving for another hour. You guys want to go get some juice?"The group assents, and they begin to walk towards the far end of the massive structure, taking their time. They have all the time they need; this will be the last time in a long while that they'll get to see Bolin, and they go to a cafe to wait for the arrival of his train. As they wait for their drinks to arrive, Bolin turns to Asami.

"So, I hear you managed to secure some contracts with the government." Asami's eyes light up at the chance to talk about her work; despite the damage done to Future Industries by both her father's fanaticism and Varrick's greed, the company is her pride and joy, and she loves to discuss her projects with any who would care to hear about it.

"President Raiko signed a three-year lease with me for me to rebuild all of the areas affected by the spirit vines in any way I see fit. It's great! I get as much freedom as I want! And trust me, the things I'm going to do to Republic City are going to be huge. For one thing, I'm going to leave the vines where they are and rebuild the destroyed areas around the spirit wilds."

"Wow." Mako sounds genuinely interested in Asami's grand plans, and he leans forward, crossing his arms on the wood table. "Did Korra suggest that?"

"Yeah! How did you know?"

"She is supposed to be the bridge between us and the spirits, after all. It's kinda what she has to say." Asami frowns at him, as if offended by his explanation, and Mako's face drops as he realises the hidden meanings of what he said.

"I'm not saying it's a bad idea! It sounds pretty cool. Never been done before. I'd like to see how it turns out." Asami smiles at Mako; it appears his transgression is forgiven. But her attempt to continue is interrupted by a waiter, who deposits a tray containing a number of vividly-coloured drinks in front of them. They take their drinks and thank the man before turning their attention back to Asami, who sips a banana and date smoothie in the pauses in her conversation.

"Anyway, Korra advised me to leave the spirit vines well alone. If what her father told her is true, disrupting the homes of spirits is a very bad idea. So I decided to incorporate the vines themselves into many of the buildings I'm designing. I'm even going to rebuild the City Hall around the vines that sprouted throughout the complex! And for the roads that got cutoff, I'm planning something a little more ambitious. Roads on top of other roads! It should also reduce traffic with any luck."

"Woah." Bolin is listening attentively while slurping a lychee and mint smoothie. "The city's going to look so different when I get back." Bolin turns to Mako, who's half-heartedly stirring his orange juice with his straw.

"So, what do the cops have planned for you, bro? Promotions? Assignment to a dangerous, yet exciting case? Ooh! What if you have to infiltrate the Triple Threats in order to rescue a beautiful woman, and she falls in love with you at first sight, but she's the Viper's daughter, and you have to get her away from her dad?" Mako arches an eyebrow at his brother's ramblings.

"The Viper doesn't have any kids, Bolin. But I wish I was being assigned to infiltration duty. It's more exciting than becoming the bodyguard of the Crown Prince of the Earth Kingdom."

"What?!" Opal almost spits out her coconut water from shock. "You're becoming Prince Wu's bodyguard! Wow, that's very prestigious!"

"Tell me about it. I've been taking mandatory etiquette lessons for the past three weeks. You know what royals are like, and apparently he's prefers maintaining his personal appearance over actually learning how to rule a nation, which is even more great news for me. The faster you unite the Kingdom, Bolin, the less time I'll have to spend with him."

"Don't you worry about that, Mako. We'll work so fast, you won't even notice he's there." Bolin finishes his smoothie and smacks his lips, savouring the sweet, sharp taste of the lychee-mint combination, and turns to Opal. "So what will you be doing while I'm gone? I hear that the Air Nomads are going to be deploying peacekeeper teams worldwide to resolve problems now that Korra's gone back home."

"Me? Tenzin's only planning to deploy nomads once they complete their training, and I've barely mastered the advanced baguazhang forms. Meelo's very strict when it comes to grading his students." The rest of the group nods in sympathy; Meelo, while just a kid, was an airbender prodigy, and was irritatingly ruthless when it came to teaching the bending forms to the initiates. Opal finishes the rest of her coconut water and continues.

"I do plan to get deployed though. Once I finish, I'll see how many strings I need to pull in order to get myself deployed to watch over the Earth Kingdom. Then I can come drop by whenever we're close." The smile that Opal gives him afterwards makes Bolin flush red-hot, and he places his hand over Opal's and squeezes. "I'd like that," he mutters as they lean in to kiss. Her lips taste like a mixture of raspberries and coconut water, and it's delicious. He presses into her, hungry for more. Asami's smiling at their display of affection, and Mako is making a point of looking anywhere but directly in front of him. He's uncomfortable by his brother's romantic display, and Bolin can relate to his discomfort; that time when he'd caught Korra and Mako kissing under the gazebo all those months ago had been a harrowing experience for him.

He breaks off his kiss when he hears the intercom announce the arrival of his train, and there's a expression of trepidation on Opal's face. She doesn't want him to go. In one way, Bolin doesn't want to leave either. But he signed up when Kuvira sent him a personal request in the mail, and he wants to fix the problems that Zaheer started when he removed Hou-Ting from power. Millions are suffering, ruled by bandits and dictators, and he is a part of the solution. He only wishes that the solution would let him spend more time with his girlfriend.

Bolin pushes his chair in as he stands up, throwing seven yuans onto the table to satisfy his share of the bill. He moves behind his trolley and begins to move towards Platform 14 (Private), his friends following closely behind him. The entrance to the platform is protected by a chain-link fence, a ticket officer standing in front of the now unlocked door. As they approach, he holds up a hand to stop them.

"Only people with authorized access are allowed beyond this point, sir. I'm going to need to see your tickets." Bolin rummages in his pockets, pulling out a pair of yellow cards that are quickly stamped by the officer, who waves him through. However, Bolin turns back to face the rest of his party, who're staring at him with pride. Bolin is hit with the sudden realisation that this will be the last time he'll see his friends in a long, long time, and he blinks back a tear.

"Well, this is it. Where we part ways. Remember, Mako, Pabu likes to go out on walkies no less than four times a day, his favourite treat is duck-goose snaps which you only give to him if he preforms his tricks to an acceptable standard, and do not let him get muddy at all, he hates baths-" Mako laughs for the first time all day, and he takes Bolin in a brotherly embrace.

"Relax, little bro. I'll take care of that little moneysink." They break off the embrace, but Mako holds him by his shoulders. "It's a big world out there, Bolin, and not everyone's going to like what Kuvira's doing. No matter what happens to you, I'm here in Republic City, and I'll be waiting with an open door. Stay safe."

"You too, Mako. Good luck with your new job." Mako's smile speaks of an unbelievable sense of pride, and Bolin knows that all his brother can see is the starving orphan child that he spent the best part of his life caring for, all grown up and ready to make a difference; to bring salvation to those in the same dark place that Mako and him were in for all those years. Mako claps him on the shoulder, and steps back. Asami's next, and she smiles with the same pride as they embrace.

"Good luck with reuniting the Kingdom, Bolin. Write to me." They break the embrace, and Asami ruffles Bolin's hair playfully. "See if you can't put in a good word for Future Industries with Kuvira, Bolin. I'd hate to see Varrick get all the good contracts." Bolin gives a two fingered salute in reply, an action that Asami reciprocates as she walks over to Mako, who looks like he's trying not to cry. Bolin hasn't seen that expression on him in years, not since their first night living with Toza in the arena.

Opal's the last to say goodbye. She doesn't say anything; instead, she grabs his jacket collar and kisses him. She pushes into him with a violence he's rarely seen, and he loses himself once again in the addictive taste of her raspberry and coconut-flavoured lips. It's moments like this that makes everything worth it for him; all the life-threatening brawls against horrible foes, all the scavenging out of trashcans and the stealing just to find enough food to last them a day, all the terrible arguments he had with Mako over how they were going to survive the winter, how he wanted out of the gangs, everything that he's ever suffered is validated by Opal and how she devours him with a wonderful ferocity that sets his face aflame. He's never felt this way for any other girl before, and he probably never will. And he's too scared to admit it to her.

They break off the kiss, breathless, a small rope of drool momentarily connecting their lips together before it falls to the ground. Opal smiles then, and Bolin is almost moved enough to tell her how much she loves her. But the moment of opportunity passes, and Opal begins to walk back towards Mako and Asami. Bolin grabs her by the arm, and she stops.

"Come visit me when you have the chance, Opal." She nods, and she continues back towards his friends. Bolin heaves a deep sigh, and begins to push his luggage through the door that the officer has gratefully kept open for him. As he crosses the door's threshold, he turns back and waves a final goodbye at his friends. They wave back; Mako's expression is filled with pride, Opal's with brave sadness and Asami's with a unique smirk that speaks of both. He loves his friends; he wouldn't have come close to this goal were it not for their support, and he would die for them.

Bolin takes one last glance at them, and walks through the door, ready to face his new life.

* * *

 "Well, if it isn't my favourite mover star himself, Bolin!"

Varrick meets him halfway, outside the entrance to the train. He's wearing the uniform of Kuvira's Inner Circle (a dark green blazer with a brighter shade of green running down his chest; a smart metal belt buckled around his waist to hold up a pair of dark brown trousers; black jackboots that run up to a point just below his knees; a pair of sode made of thin metal strips that clink whenever he moves his arms), and his ever-faithful assistant Zhu Li stands behind him. Her expression remains the same as it has been since Bolin first met her; one that speaks of tired patience, of caring for an eccentric billionaire who's ungrateful for everything she does for him, and yet keeps her frustration bottled away where no one can see it, least of all her boss. Bolin has no idea why she stays by his side, but he's not going to pursue that line of thought at this point in time.

Varrick strides up to Bolin and grasps his hand firmly, shaking it so hard that Bolin fears he might dislocate his arm. He's the complete opposite of Zhu Li: where she is calm and measured, Varrick is excited and spontaneous; where Zhu Li is silent, Varrick is loud; where Zhu Li is shy, Varrick is eager and ready to face whatever things the day may throw at him. Today, that thing is Bolin.

"It's great to have you on board, Bolin!" Varrick loops an arm around Bolin's shoulder and practically drags him towards the train doors; he's walking faster than Bolin can keep up with his luggage trolley, and Zhu Li has to whisper this fact in his ear before he slows down to a reasonable walking speed.

"So, what are you doing with Kuvira, Varrick?" Varrick beams.

"For one thing, Kuvira has signed me up to design some amazing things! I can't tell you anything about them; it's on a strictly need-to-know basis," he taps the side of his nose and winks as he claims this, "but I can tell you this: they'll knock your socks off with their sheer amazingness! Take the magnetic train, for example." Bolin's eyebrows shoot up when he hears that.

"You were serious about that?" "Bolin, if there's one thing you know about me, it's that I take all of my ideas very seriously! Seriously enough to entrust my initial designs to Baatar Junior! That guy's a genius, and that's a strong statement coming from me! Even Zhu Li was impressed when I showed her the initial schematics. Right, Zhu Li?"

"Very, sir."

"Just what I thought!" They reach the entrance to the train, and Bolin pushes the trolley onto the train itself, admiring the fine interior decor of the locomotive. It has been upholstered in the art deco style typically associated with Zaofu; it reminds him of Suyin's great mansion. A man wearing a less ornate version of Varrick's uniform gives a crisp salute as they step aboard. Varrick takes the opportunity to pat Bolin on the shoulder.

"Well, this is where we part ways for now, kiddo. Staff Sergeant Chong here will take good care of you. I'll see you at the signing-in at six o'clock!"

And before Bolin can ask just what Varrick means by that, he wheels around, marching off to his own room with Zhu Li in tow. Chong clears his throat, and salutes again when Bolin turns his attention back to him.

"Welcome aboard the _HMT Liberator_ , sir. Your quarters are this way, if you'd care to follow me."

Bolin follows the officer, who shows him into a spacious one-bed room, complete with its own toilet and bathing facilities. It looks like it belongs in the Four Elements. With great effort, Bolin manages to pull his suitcase off the trolley, and he begins to unpack his things while Staff Sergeant Chong returns the trolley to the station. He notes with some distaste that the gyoza from last night have been smashed together into a ball of pulled meat and dough, and he places it to one side as he finishes unpacking his clothes. It takes him 2 hours to sort through the assorted junk he brought with him (why on earth did he think bringing some rocks to practise his bending with would be a good idea?), and by the time he finishes, he's exhausted.

Bolin moves to lie down on his bed, but as he's getting comfortable he's interrupted by a knock on the door. Grumbling, he goes to open the door, and is greeted by Chong, who is holding a pressed olive green uniform with metal clasps piled on top.

"Your uniform, sir. You are a part of the reunification force now, and you must look the part."

Bolin takes the uniform gingerly; thanks to a youth wasted on the streets, he's grown to distrust uniforms. Chong continues.

"The signing in is being held in Conference Room C at six o'clock, which is an hour and a half from now. You are expected to be present sir." Bolin looks up, overwhelmed from the deluge of information the NCO is spewing at him. Noticing his troubles, Chong offers him a smile.

"Welcome to the Unification Corps. We're going to make history."

* * *

 

It's five to six, and Bolin is nervous with anticipation.

The metal sode attached on his shoulders are heavy, and it takes some effort for him to stand straight. The collar of his uniform has been starched, and it rides up his neck to the point where it almost chokes him. His feet started to hurt five minutes into wearing his jackboots, and his belt pinches too tightly around his waistline.

But despite this, Bolin's never felt more excited. After nearly three months of waiting, the hour where he would be inducted into Kuvira's forces had finally come! He strides over to one of the mirrors lining the train corridors and tries to smooth down his hair, adjusting a cowlick that had refused to comb back with the rest of his fringe. Varrick is also waiting outside; he's as much a member of the Circle as Baatar but he decided to stay with Bolin while Kuvira discussed military tactics with her generals. Despite the profit that he's made out of funding wars, the billionaire has no taste for its finer points, and it appears that neither does his assistant. Her face is an impassive mask as she lazily watches Bolin pace the length of the corridor with worry. Varrick is less patient about his behaviour.

"Bolin, relax, for the spirits' sake! This is just like your mover days; just put on a show of competence for them and they'll lap it up like thirsty tiger seals!"

"But what if I say something offensive? What if they hate me and they want me to leave? I want to help, Varrick!"

"Kiddo, take it easy. It's going to be fine. You just walk in there, say how great it is to be here and just swear the oath."

"Oath? I wasn't told there would be an oath! I don't know what to say!" Varrick lays a hand on Bolin's shoulder in a soothing gesture.

"It's easy; you just gotta say "I do" when she pauses in between her lines. There's nothing to this, kid; it's easier than pretending to be Nuktuk! Heck, even I could do it, and I'm a terrible actor!"

Bolin is about to reply to Varrick, to tell him that this was completely different from acting and that he was scared of making a fool of himself when the door to the conference room opens. Chong sticks his head out of the door.

"Bolin, Varrick, Secretary-General Kuvira will see you now." Bolin gulps, and is almost about to make a run for it, but Varrick grabs his arm and yanks him forward into the conference room.

The room is, if anything, more extravagant than the outside corridors; the embellishment is made from gilded steel, and the tables and chairs are made from a grained walnut that has been polished to a mirror shine. The seats are occupied by four extremely grizzled looking soldiers, whom Bolin assumes are Kuvira's generals. They are a patchwork of scars and lines; one especially mean looking man is wearing an eyepatch that covers an ominous gash which stretches from his cheek to the edge of his widow's peak. Bolin doesn't even want to imagine what could have caused such an injury. Sitting at the head of the table is a man who's wearing a pair of thick spectacles. He looks Bolin straight in the eye and nods with a perfectly balanced mixture of respect and disdain. Bolin distantly remembers him from Zaofu: he's Opal's oldest brother, Baatar Jr. A woman is standing in front of a map of the continent; unlike Bolin and everyone else present, she's wearing domaru combat plate, and her collar is supplemented by a thick steel nodowa that covers her collar bones as well as her neck. Her night-black hair is tied back in a neat bun, and she has a beauty spot dotted right underneath her left eye.

"Hello. I am Secretary-General Kuvira." Bolin is numb with stage fright; he's never had the feeling before, even when he was a pro-bender, and Varrick has to nudge him into action mid-bow.

"Uh," he begins, raising a hand in greeting. "...Hi, Kuvira?"

The silence is so thick afterwards Bolin has to imagine the crickets chirping in the background. It's shattered when Eyepatch Guy roars with laughter, slamming his fist on the table with mirth.

"I like this one! He has guts to talk like that!" Eyepatch Guy saunters over to Bolin and grabs him by the hand, shaking it along with the rest of him. "I'm Major General Bingchen, Army Group D. And you are?"

"Bolin. No title." "Well, Bolin No Title, I think you'll fit in here just fine." He gestures to the other three military figures, who are staring at him with a wide variety of expressions.

"This dour lady over here," he waves an arm at a woman who looks around Lin's age, "is Lieutenant General Hu, Army Group D. She may look unfriendly, but that's because she doesn't know how to smile! Believe me, I've been trying to teach her since officer camp." That's when Bolin notices the matching platinum rings on both Hu and Bingchen's fingers, and he smiles for the first time since entering the room. Hu doesn't return the gesture.

"This rogue over there," he points at a short man in his thirties, "is General Gao, Army Group B. Don't let the name fool you, he's smaller than I am!" Gao snorts with derision.

"That joke was only funny the first time, Bingchen."

Bingchen waves him off, and waves a hand at the last man, who has a thick white moustache that reminds Bolin so much of the sky bisons on Air Temple Island it's all he can do not to chuckle at the wizened figure's facial hair.

"This esteemed gentleman over here is General Qiang, Army Group C. One of our finest men, he was respobsible for the victories in both the Hami Rebellion and the Kyoshi Crisis, and he served during Operation Black Sun to boot! He's a true veteran." Qiang splutters with modesty, his moustache vibrating as he does so.

"Oh well, it wasn't like I had a choice in the matter, it wasn't as hard as everyone made it out to be..." Qiang tries to hide his well deserved pride with a screen of reluctance, but everyone in the room knows that he is immensely proud of his illustrious career. Kuvira was very lucky to acquire such a powerful general.

As Bolin moves to sit down next to Qiang, Kuvira inclines her head towards him. "My fellow members of the Circle. Today, a new recruit has joined us for induction. Bolin has come to us with a personal recommendation from not only the spiritual leader of the resurgent Air Nomads, but also from Avatar Korra herself. According to the letter she sent me, Bolin is loyal, quick-thinking and capable of defusing a hostile situation with unparalleled speed. Combined with his unique ability to lavabend, these factors lead me to believe that Bolin is a perfect candidate for membership of the Inner Circle. As such, I present him here for induction into our society." She gestures for Bolin to stand up and approach her. When he's facing her, she gestures downwards, and Bolin takes to one knee.

"Those who are opposed to his induction, make your case heard or keep your tongue forever sealed." Bolin is worried that someone is going to yell their dissent with Kuvira's decision, that Baatar Jr. or Hu will stand up and denounce him. But no one says anything, and Kuvira takes that as invitation to continue.

"Then we shall proceed. Bolin," she places a hand on his thought chakra, two fingertips pressed against his light chakra and the other three straddled around the rest of his head. Bolin knows the gesture is purely symbolic, but for one brief, horrible moment it reminded of the convention centre, where he witnessed the chi forcefully ripped out of the screaming, twisting bodies of gangsters by a masked fanatic. The moment passes, and Bolin looks up at Kuvira admiringly. He is ready for the oath.

"Do you, Bolin, henceforth pledge your unwavering loyalty to me, Kuvira?"

"I do."

"Do you, Bolin, henceforth pledge to not rest until the Earth Kingdom has been rebuilt, its strongholds reunited in the name of the throne?"

"I do."

"Do you, Bolin, henceforth pledge to sacrifice your life in the name of this ideology, and to put my life before yours in the direst of circumstances?"

"...I do."

"And do you, Bolin, henceforth pledge to never reveal the secrets of the Inner Circle, we elite few, to the rest of the world?"

"I do."

"Then, by the powers of the Royal Seal bestowed unto me by Crown Prince Wu of the Kuei dynasty, I appoint you as my retainer. You shall be at my side, you shall be my sword and shield, you shall be my voice and my seal. This I so swear. May this vow remain unbroken until your final breath. Rise, Bolin."

Bolin stands up ramrod straight. Gone are his earlier fears of messing up. All he has now is a deep, brimming sense of pride that wells up from a source within his body, and Bolin wonders if maybe Kuvira had fiddled around with his chakras while he recited the oath. Kuvira bows towards him, and he bows back.

"Welcome to the Inner Circle, retainer," Kuvira claims as she smiles. "I have a feeling that we're going to accomplish great things together."

Bolin's never smiled so hard in his entire life. He's never felt so self-confident before, and he's basking in the warm radiance of her charisma. And then, Bolin realises that he would die for this woman. He would give her the ultimate sacrifice if she needed it, and he would be happy to do so. He, and everyone else in this room, would give their lives for Kuvira. And he's exhilarated by this knowledge.

"You know what, ma'am? I have that feeling too."


	2. The Resumption

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's note: In this AU, the Mako Bros. extended family returned to Ba Sing Se after the riots and rebuilt their apartment. Yin was that stubborn about the flat.

**The First Citizen Chapter 1: The Resumption**

_Six months after induction_

Bolin strolls down a cobbled pavement with a hand in his pocket, the other holding a battered map that he's carefully analysing. The map is from a tourist bureau of the Lower Ring that he had passed fifteen minutes ago, and he's drawn a thick red circle around Mingxia Boulevard, the number fourty-six scribbled down next to it. He stops for a moment to take stock of his surroundings, and groans when he notices that he's at the entrance to Mingxia Avenue. He's been following the wrong directions for the last hour and a half, and he feverishly analyzes the map to pinpoint where he is.

He takes a seat on the porch step of an apartment block, pulling out a small white triangle of baitangao. He begins to take bites out of the sticky rice cake, savouring its sweetness as he pores over his map for a clue as to where he is. Out of the corner of his eye, Bolin notices that a small group of kids have begun to pay attention to him; they're bumping their elbows and nodding in his direction, and one of the youngest goes so far as to point at him. He's not surprised; with his map and his foreign fashion and his confused attitude, he looks every bit a tourist. And from what Bolin remembers among his time with the Triple Threats, it's that tourists are easy meat.

They're wearing rags, and the oldest amongst them (a girl who could have been Jinora's age) has a scar that runs from the edge of her lips down to a point on her neck. Bolin grimaces and looks back to his map. He hates the fact that the Dai Li let things get so bad in the Lower Ring that kids as young as seven have had to turn to a life of crime just in order to survive, and he quietly resolves to bring the issue up with Kuvira once he returns from his visit. No child should ever have to be in the same dark place that he was at so vulnerable an age.

The kids are obviously the runners of a local gang, judging by the way the younger kids flock around the eldest for attention and praise, how one of them hands an object to the girl who gives him a note in response and sends him running, how she brings them in to discuss her plans while she occasionally glances up at him. Bolin keeps reading his map. He's not afraid of a gang of children; he knows that if the kids do come over to harass him, they'll be doing it out of the need to impress their peers and stay alive. A gangster without any friends is a dead gangster.

He brushes his finger over a street name, and he inwardly sighs with relief: Mingxia Avenue is only 4 blocks away from the Boulevard of the same name, and he folds up his map, stowing it away in his pocket. It's at this point that the kids begin to walk towards him, laughing at some unheard joke as they jostle and bump into each other like a pack of, well, unruly kids. Bolin takes that as his cue to leave, standing up and cracking his knuckles as he stretches, but at this point the children have surrounded him, calling out insults and bumping into each other as they pull out knives and take crude bending stances, mimicking their older, more powerful bending handlers. He shoves his hand into one of his pockets and grabs hold of something cold and hard, and he subconsciously shifts his feet into an earthbending stance. The concrete sings to him.

Their leader approaches, and she's about to open her mouth to make a threat, but Bolin moves faster and leaps into the air as he spins 180 degrees, slamming his palm into the ground. His hand pushes into the concrete like it is made of dough, and he grabs hold onto the earth and _twists_.

The kids yelp as the slab of concrete they're standing on suddenly rotates, sending them sprawling in a heap of limbs. The gang leader windmills her arms almost comically as she lands flat on her rump, the air escaping from her lips with an oof! As she struggles to get up, Bolin whips out his other hand and flings what he was holding straight at the girl. The other gang members cry out with shock, and scramble to their fallen leader.

As the kids stuff the yuans into whatever pockets they have, Bolin hauls the gangster up by the collar and deposits her on her feet, brushing off a speck of dust that has appeared on her shoulder. She looks at him with a great amount of suspicion.

"Why bother doing that if you were gonna give us the money in the first place, mister?"

Bolin looks at her, and for one brief flash he sees himself there instead of the girl, a criminal at 13 years old, hustling innocent strangers whose only crime was to look at them when they walked past just so they could afford to eat for that day, always sleeping with one eye open in case the gangsters came round to wake them up for late night work. He reaches into his pocket and gives her another yuan.

"I used to be in the exact same situation you were in, and it's a dark place."

"Woah, really?"

"Yeah. I used to be a hustler like you when I was your age."

"Who'd you run for? The Stone Fists?"

"What? No, they weren't established where I lived. I worked for the Triple Threats." Bolin finds himself sitting back down on the concrete step, and the street children are sitting in a semi-circle around him, listening to him as if he was a teacher. He tells them everything; how he spent his years on the streets with his brother: how he rescued Pabu from the clutches of a pythonaconda and almost paid for his benevolence with his life: how Toza took him in when the gangs had marked him and Mako as outcasts: how he saw his former boss writhe in agony as cultists wrapped in green robes tore the chi out of his body. In a way, it's therapeutic: Bolin never had anyone willing to listen long enough while he vented about everything that he'd been through when he was supposed to be living a happy, carefree childhood. And he can register the same thing happening in his audiences' faces; they've seen things that no child should ever see. It's good for them to talk to someone who got out of the cycle of violence and poverty that hangs over them like a knife, threatening to descend should they ever voice hopes of leaving the gangs. It gives them hope.

Bolin talks for another hour, preaching to the kids as if he was a wandering monk, before he realises that the sun has begun to set.

"Alright guys, I hope I've taught you something today. Even if that lesson is 'don't attack strange men who may or may not be totally wicked earthbenders'. I guess I'll see you around sometime." He passes through the kids, when one of them grabs his hand.

"Thanks, mister," says the gang leader, who almost looks like a child again. "I appreciate you coming to talk to us. Not everyone treats us as nice as you do."

"They don't know what it's like on the streets like I do. Now, I gotta go." He begins to cross the road, headed in the direction of Mingxia Boulevard, and he turns around while he's standing on the pedestrian island in the middle of the street. "And spend that money on something useful!" They wave back in reply, and Bolin smiles, sniffing loudly in an attempt to prevent himself from crying. They were good kids at heart, and they didn't deserve the life that the spirits had chosen for them. Bolin resolved to himself that once he got back to Kuvira he would do something about it. Something for every homeless kid in the Kingdom.

* * *

 

There's a feast laid out for Bolin when he enters his grandmother's rebuilt apartment.

Every conceivable dish in the Earth Kingdom appears to be arrayed before him: there's mounds of steaming white rice and stir-fried vegetables which accompany a massive roast duck-goose; golden-brown baozis stuffed with honeyed pork are being served alongside smaller, more numerous wontons; a large pot of chicken broth that is filled with thin rice noodles, lumps of chicken meat swimming to the surface; a pile of char siu, glazed reddish-brown from its time on the grill. Despite his earlier snack, Bolin's mouth is watering, and his stomach reminds him of how empty it is.

His extended family are busy tucking into their meals, laughing and making conversation as they tear into their starters of hard-boiled tea eggs. Bolin is sat at the head of the table, savouring the oddly delicious flavour of his appetiser as his grandmother watches with doting pride. She's nibbling at a plate of steamed bok choi as she narrates at Bolin how proud she is of him and his brother.

"Oh it's wonderful that your brother Mako is working for the Crown Prince! I've always dreamed of having a family member work for the Royal Family! Did you know that if a royal touches you, you'll have good luck for the rest of the week! Mako's going to have enough luck to last a lifetime! And it's also wonderful that you're working with that lovely Zaofu girl to restore the Kingdom! I tell you, tomorrow's Seal ceremony is going to be so nice! Ever since that terrorist removed our beloved monarch, things have really gone downhill here, and I can't wait for you and your lovely Zaofu girl to take back the throne!"

Bolin nods in agreement as he takes a bite out of a baozi, the juices inside messily dripping down his chin. The memory of those kids asking for his wallet was still fresh in his mind. Bolin remains silent and lets his grandmother continues.

"I mean, those young ragamuffins that you met were already here when the Queen was in charge, but at least we had the militia to sort them out when they got too rowdy! But ever since the Dai Li took control, we've had no help against them! Those gangs have gotten out of control!"

Bolin arches his eyebrows, placing his plate down as he leans towards his grandma. The representatives sent to welcome Kuvira's forces never mentioned that the crime levels had risen to those levels; the only thing that the two women had talked about was how beautiful and secure the city was now that the Dai Li ruled directly.

"Grandma," he asks Yin as he slices off a piece of duck-goose breast and spoons some rice on his plate, "what has the city been like, now that the Dai Li are in charge?"

She responds by indicating to Tu to check the blinds. He puts his duck-goose covered plate down and rises to look out of the windows, straining his eyes as he tries to check if the dark-robed men are listening into the upcoming conversation. When he verifies to her that no one is watching them eat, Yin leans into Bolin and starts to whisper.

"The Dai Li are everywhere! They're watching everyone! You can't go shopping at the market without them knowing what you bought from which stalls! It's crazy! The Dai Li were always shifty, but when the Queen died they went over the top! Anyone who questions them goes missing, and then turn up days later as if nothing had happened! You have to do something about it, Bolin! They've gone too far!"

Bolin's expression hardens, an act that would look fearsome if his mouth was not filled with food. The Dai Li were a nasty bunch: the brutal treatment of Kai and the other airbenders had shocked him, and judging by how they were ruling the city after Hou-Ting's demise, it was clear that the Dai Li only cared for themselves.

"I don't trust them either, grandma. I'll need to tell Kuvira about what you said. Thanks for having the courage to say that." She smiles and hugs Bolin.

"Anything for my grandson. Now, be a good boy, and finish your duck-goose. You won't get any dessert if you don't eat everything on your plate."

"Grandma, I'm 18."

"No excuse!"

* * *

An hour later, Bolin is feasting on a slice of nutmeg-dusted egg custard tart, shovelling the rich dessert into his mouth as he savours the delectable combination of the creamy custard and the fragrant spices. The family has relocated to the lounge, and are busy helping themselves to a selection of desserts: there's a large egg custard tart; peeled lychee-nuts that swim in a mason jar filled with sugar syrup; slices of fresh banana and mango; a large bowl of sweet congee which has been flavoured with vanilla, de-pitted cherries hidden like rubies in the rice pudding.

The apartment is new: though it's the same number from the same building, the flat itself has been completely rebuilt: his cousins constructed additional rooms out of the massive main room, dividing it into a dining room and a lounge area. While it's cramped, Bolin finds that the apartment feels more like a home than before. As he finishes his pie and moves on to ladle congee into a small bowl, he sits next to Tu, who skewers a slice of banana and eats it in one bite.

"So," Bolin starts to say as he rests his spoon inside the sweet porridge, "why did you guys decide to move back, then? Asami offered you guys a place in her mansion, but you turned it down for this place?"

Tu's eyes narrow, and Bolin quickly backpedals his statement.

"I'm not saying it was a bad decision; you've made it very nice here! All I'm asking is, well...why come back? The riots burnt up your neighbourhood pretty bad, and the Dai Li..."

Tu's response is to give a half-hearted laugh as he pops another lychee into his mouth.

"Bolin, if there's one thing that gran-gran taught me, it's that home is where the heart is. And for me," he emphasizes this point, slapping himself in the chest, "my heart is here. Right in Ba Sing Se. Every single one of us loves the city, Bolin. It's our home."

"But what about the Dai Li? Don't they bother you?" Tu arches his eyebrows.

"Who cares about them? You're here! They're giving your boss the Royal Seal! They'll have to obey her after she accepts the Seal from them! And once she does, life will be great here! It'll be even better once Mako and the Prince arrive to take the reins."

Bolin's not sure. The Dai Li have a bad history with the Kuei dynasty; they handled the war directly without letting the royal family know that the Fire Nation were attempting to conquer their kingdom, and when that power was wrested from them they defected to the Fire Lord without hesitation. It was a shock to everyone when Kuei pardoned them of high treason and reinstated them back into their original positions. If Kuvira accepted the medal, she would begin reforming Ba Sing Se, and that would include the reduction of the Dai Li's power. That would be detrimental to their plans, and Bolin realises with dread that they will be forced to do something drastic if Kuvira accepts the medal. Suddenly, he's hit with the need to warn Kuvira. He wolfs down his congee and stands up, attracting the attention of everyone in the room.

"Well, this has been really, really nice, but I kinda need to get going. I've got a very busy day tomorrow, y'know, doing official Kingdom-y things, protecting the Secretary-General, that sorta stuff. I kinda need to hit the sack early."

Yin's expression shifts to one of sadness. "So soon? But you only just got here! We haven't even begun the boardgames yet!" Bolin's empathetic towards her sorrow; she hasn't seen her grandson in five months, and to leave after a couple of hours strikes a nerve inside her.

"Don't worry grandma; after the ceremony I'll come right back and we can play as many boardgames as you want! I really need to go though, I have an early wakeup and a long day. Sorry if I offended you, grandma, but I'll make it up to you." Yin's expression softens, and she embraces Bolin.

"Don't worry about it, dear. I understand perfectly. Go. We can continue this party tomorrow."

Bolin smiles. "Thanks, grandma. Now," he tells to the rest of his family as he makes his way to his jacket, pulling out a thick sheaf of tickets that he places on the lounge table, "don't forget your tickets for tomorrow! You've all got front row seats to the appointment ceremony!"

Saying that Yin would be shocked is an understatement, and she rushes forward to embrace Bolin along with the rest of his family, squeezing him in the middle of a collective embrace. "Thanks guys, but uh, you're kinda crushing me a little. Well, I mean a lot but it's no biggie, I can handle it, I'm a tough gu-oof! Is that you, Little Chong? Man, you're packing a heck of a hug..."

And, as Bolin makes his way back to the hotel where he and the rest of the interim government are staying, he feels good. Seeing his grandmother smile like that out of pure gratitude almost makes him forget the horrible suspicions that he has about the Dai Li. He resolves to sort it out in the morning; he's had quite a busy day, and the prospect of sleep seems more promising with every step he takes.

Consumed by his intent on making it to his bed, Bolin does not notice the robed men that pull themselves out of the shadows, tailing him all the way back to the Upper Ring.

* * *

Bolin wasn't lying when he told his relations that he had an early start. As the retainer of the Secretary-General, it was his job to oversee the security plans that the Dai Li had drafted up, and the Grand Secretariat of Ba Sing Se had personally insisted that they meet at the crack of dawn in order to discuss the finer points of the arrangements they had made.

It's now seven o'clock, and Bolin has been awake for two hours, arguing with the aforementioned bureaucrat over Bolin's side in securing the podium.

The Grand Secretariat is a thin, brown-haired woman in her late fifties. She's wearing a long black robe trimmed with gold thread, her hair neatly plaited in the long ponytail indicative of having membership of the Dai Li. Bolin isn't surprised by this; the position of Grand Secretariat has always been held by the leader of the Dai Li. It's how they were able to exert such control over the royal family. She's as stubborn as she looks, and Bolin admits that he has a shred of respect for the woman; having to deal with Hou-Ting for three decades has made her single-minded and absolutely determined to have her way. Currently, that involves where their guards should stand.

"This is the last time that I will say this, retainer!" The Secretariat highlights her statement by slamming her fist onto the table with such force that the mugs of coffee threaten to spill their contents over the blueprints of the podium, patrol routes and guard positions marked with white chalk. "My agents are completely capable of defending your party from any form of attack that may arise! You only need to deploy your guards around the Secretary-General herself! The Dai Li will cover everywhere else. Why do you not accept this arrangement?"

Bolin knows that the Grand Secretariat is planning something else. Why else would she limit the size of the guards that Bolin has direct jurisdiction over to half a squad's worth of metalbenders? It's not enough to defend anyone in the case of a terrorist attack, and Bolin's concerned about the crowd. His family's going to be there, and if they get hurt...

"I can't do anything with just four metalbenders, Secretariat! All they'll be is a distraction! I need more men if I need to repel an attack! And what about the crowd? Nowhere in your plans have I seen anything about evacuating the crowd in case something bad happens. I want to station men there to get them out safely if we do see trouble!"

"The crowd are an independent variable which have nothing to do with the security of your employer nor the rest of those on the stadium. They can find their own way to safety should there be any trouble."

"What?!" Bolin is shocked by the Secretariat's complete disregard for the safety of their audience. He knows that the Dai Li always distanced themselves from the rest of Ba Sing Se, but this was crossing a line that never should have had to be drawn in the first place. "I will not accept civilian casualties, no way! That idea is not happening. I am insisting that you let me deploy at least a squad of my soldiers into the crowd to act as a security detail for them."

"Absolutely not," the official spits back, her anger rising in her voice as she leans towards Bolin, a finger pointed straight towards his face, "I will not have your rabble interfere with such a prestigious audience."

"I don't care if you won't! I won't have innocent lives get hurt because some people get upset and decide to attack Kuvira! I'm putting men down there, with or without your permission!"

The Secretariat starts forwards, her face a mask of fury. "You overstep your boundaries, boy! I've been doing this job since before you were born! Placing troops in the seating areas will only incite the masses to panic! I've seen it happen before!"

"I will not leave them defenceless!"

"You will leave them alone, you ignorant child!"

The two are now face to face, heads locked in anger as they stare the other down, waiting for the other to relent and back off. They are about to come to blows when someone else steps in.

"What is the meaning of this?" Bolin's face instantly drops his fury, rotating around and performing a crisp salute, his back ramrod straight. The Secretariat is less polite, slowly turning around and affixing their interrupter with a presumptuous glare, her hands folded behind her back. The interrupter continues as she storms into the room.

"When I asked you two to work together over the security detail," Kuvira shouts, a finger pointed in accusation at the duo, "I expected you to find a compromise, not to threaten to kill each other over a mere plan!"The Secretariat bows in apology.

"Secretary-General, I cannot create such a plan when you expect me to work with this...inexperienced, naive retainer of yours! He frustrates me to no end with his ignorant suggestions!"

"Kuvira, she wants to limit our personal security to four men! And she wants to abandon the crowd to their own if something does go wrong! I can't let that happen, you know that!"

Kuvira raises a hand to placate Bolin, turning her attention to the Dai Li representative.

"I humbly apologize for any offence that my retainer may have caused you, Grand Secretariat. I will follow your wishes if that is what it takes to hasten the unification process. I will limit the guards to the amount that you recommend."

Bolin is shocked. Kuvira's behaviour is unacceptable; she always made it clear to those who challenge her decision that her word is final; this new attitude is wholly out of character, and Bolin is speechless at this display. However, the Grand Secretariat seems pleased at this development, and she sneers at Bolin as she exits the conference room that they had held their meeting in. Bolin waits until the official is out of earshot before he voices his displeasure at Kuvira.

"I know that it is not my place to question your decisions, Kuvira, but what were you thinking?! She wants there to be a minimal presence from our soldiers for a reason. And it's probably not so they can sleep in today!"

Kuvira's only response is to nod; she understands Bolin's concern perfectly.

"If you think that I'm going to let that snake get her way, you evidently haven't been by my side long enough, Bolin. I only needed to get her out of the way so I could talk to you in private." She turns to Bolin. "It's pretty clear to me that the Dai Li are planning something big for today. From what the men we have on patrols have reported, the Dai Li sentries are nowhere to be seen."

"Isn't that what they usually go for? I thought that was their whole thing, being super sneaky."

"Usually their agents make their presence known to us. It's part of some meaningless open face policy the Dai Li has with regards to their rulers. But it appears I am the exception."

Bolin steps forward, eyes filled with concern, and he remembers what his grandmother told him. "Kuvira, last night my grandma told me that the Dai Li have been ruling the city with an iron fist. People who question the organisation openly go missing, and turn up singing praises to them days later! They're watching everyone! They've got complete control of Ba Sing Se! The last thing they want to do is to hand it over to you. I'm worried they'll try something at the ceremony, and that agent's refusal to let me post more guards around confirms it for me." Kuvira's expression sours.

"Bolin, I know that you are concerned about your family, and I also know that this concern is making you think irrationally. The denial of permission to post guards is a symbol of control, of dominance that the Dai Li supposedly have over us. It's not an indication that they're planning an attack."

Bolin shakes his head, refusing to believe that Kuvira is true, but before he can voice his dissent Kuvira presses on with her statement.

"At the same time, your concern for the people is admirable, and if something happen to them I will not be able to forgive myself. Bolin, I want you to post your most trusted men into the crowd in civilian disguises. If anything happens, have them co-ordinate an evacuation of the audience and get Qiang to have a squad on standby if we need extraction."

Bolin gives a crisp salute in reply, his right hand raised high in the traditional victory salute of the Chin dynasty. He turns to leave, jackboots clicking on the polished surface of the tile floor.

"Bolin?" Kuvira calls after him. "This event is going to be attended by journalists from all over the globe. Any organisation, Dai Li or otherwise, would have to be very brave or foolish to try anything in full view of the world's eyes. Your family and everyone else in that crowd are safe."

"All the same, ma'am," Bolin says, slipping back into the professional tone he used to indicate that he was determined to have his way, "I'm still going to deploy those men. I want to make sure that they're going to be alright."

* * *

"Today is a great day for the citizens of Ba Sing Se!"

The Secretariat's palms slam into the oak lectern, her voice booming into the microphone as her statement reverberates across the sea of people that have amassed in front of the podium. People from all walks of life have gathered to see the official resumption ceremony; nobles from the highest tiers of Ba Sing Se society rub shoulders with the poorest denizens of the Lower Ring, and despite the fact that they would ordinarily be protesting at this class mixing, today they do not care. Their attention is fixed on the stand in front of them, staring at Kuvira, who is kneeling towards the palace, her head bowed in a ceremonial symbol of respect.

Bolin is standing with the rest of the Inner Circle, hoisting the olive-green banner of the Unification Corps; the light-grey octagon of Zaofu embroidered in the centre of the cloth with steel threads. He holds it aloft with two hands, staring straight into the crowd in a display of impeccable discipline. The other members of the Inner Circle flank him; to his immediate left is Baatar Junior, his cold expression hiding the burning pride he has for Kuvira at this moment. To his left, General Gao stands, making himself as tall as he possibly can. He still barely reaches Bolin's shoulders. The other members flank out beside them in an arrowhead formation, and their display is impressive enough that they generate notice from the crowd; the masses are savvy enough to catch on that they are their new government.

Bolin scans the crowd, catching sight of Corporal Yao sitting next to a middle ringer; he's wearing plainclothes, as Bolin ordered him to do. Should the worst happen, he and the others deployed into the crowd will escort the civilians to safety. As expected, there are no Dai Li agents to be seen anywhere in the audience. They've all been deployed around the podium, where they stare off a small team of Corpsmen that form a small square behind the Inner Circle. The Secretariat was unhappy when she realised that Bolin had secretly doubled the number of soldiers, and it took a quiet word from Kuvira to pacify her. It's clear that their presence puts the Dai Li on edge; judging by their quick glances towards each other when the Corpsmen aren't looking.

Bolin continues to look through the crowd, smiling when he sees his family, sitting about a third of the way into the mass. They've taken up an entire row, Yin sitting directly in the middle, and he nods slightly towards them. If they noticed, they don't show it; it would be terribly embarrassing for both of them if they started to wave. Besides them, he notices another plainclothes Corpsman sitting behind them, and she nods towards Bolin; she's got his family in her hands, and she'll extract them if something happens.

Bolin turns his attention back towards the Secretariat, who has finished her speech and is presenting the Royal Seal to Kuvira. The final stages of the Resumption ceremony are at hand.

"And so, it with great pride, that I, the Grand Secretariat of the Dai Li and of Ba Sing Se, do hand over the Royal Seal of the Kuei dynasty to Kuvira Beifong, Secretary-General of the Unification Corps and the Royal Herald of the Kuei dynasty! With this act, I give the city back to the Royal Family!" Kuvira raises her hands, her palms outstretched, and the Secretariat lowers the gilded ornament into Kuvira's grasp. And as she rises to stand, the Seal held firmly in her grip, the crowd cheers her name. There's journalists everywhere; pulling themselves out of the crowds to snap photos of their new leader in her glorious moment. Bolin is almost blinded by the constant flashes of light coming from their cameras; some of the journalists have realised that the greatest actor of their time is hoisting the pennant of the Unificators, and many of them are gesturing to him with pencils and notepads, wanting to be the first to secure an interview with Bolin. He ignores them and focuses his attention back to Kuvira, who is standing behind the lectern, the Seal raised high above her head.

"Citizens of Ba Sing Se," Kuvira begins as she starts her acceptance speech. "I am your monarch's representative! I rule with his authority! And rest assured, I shall make Ba Sing Se great again, so that it is worthy of its name when your Prince arrives for his crown!"

The crowd roars back praises to her and to their prince; they are ecstatic, moving around and talking to one another as they raise their hands in the air and bellow in their glory. Kuvira is grinning wildly; she's radiating the people's awe for her right back at them, and her happiness is contagious. Even Hu, the dour woman who never laughed once on her wedding day is smiling, her thin lips curled in the imitation of the expression. Baatar Junior is laughing, his stony expression gone, and he suddenly breaks formation and runs to Kuvira, embracing her. Kuvira returns the gesture, the couple hugging tightly as they shake with laughter, and the crowd's noise is amplified a hundredfold.

And it's at that moment, in their glory and their fame, and their adulation, that Bolin notices something that makes his heart leap into his mouth.

The Dai Li have vanished.

Every single one of the black-robed guardsmen have gone, and so has their attachment of Corpsmen. Bolin's eyes widen as his adrenaline kicks in, noticing the movement in the rafters of the podium, the concealed figures behind the lacquered pillars; how some of the crowd do not cheer and scream but instead move towards the stand, their faces concealed with cloth masks.

Bolin breaks the formation , dropping the banner and running towards Kuvira. She notices and breaks the hug, nudging Baatar out of the way.

"What is the meaning of this, Bolin?"

"Kuvira, we need to get out of here now! Look up-"

And before Bolin can finish his warning, a bomb detonates in the crowd. The screaming that hits Bolin's ears will haunt him until he dies.

He tries to jump into the panicking mass of humanity. He needs to get to his family; he'll never forgive himself if the worst has happened to them.

But before he can begin the evacuation process, masked insurgents drop from the rafters of the stand's roof; they wear plainclothes and a few carry Sato-brand PDG's, electricity arcing from the miniature generators embedded into the metal tekko. Others assume bending stances, ripping out chunks of pillar to be propelled towards the Inner Circle. Bolin nearly cries out when he notices what symbol is painted onto the cloth masks the terrorists wear.

Baatar is backing away off the stand; while he is a genius, he's a liability when it comes to fighting and he knows it. Kuvira is an image of fury; she's ripped apart her armour and formed a small cloud of fletchettes out of the pieces, the razor-sharp metal orbiting her as she prepares to tear apart the madmen who would be sociopathic enough to detonate explosives in the middle of an unarmed crowd, those sick monsters, how dare they attack innocents-

A woman steps forward from the squad of insurgents, her face hidden by the same patterned cloth that her comrades wear. She points at Kuvira.

"Did you honestly think that we were only limited to one cell? We have seeds everywhere."

"I fought you once before," Kuvira retorts, "and my mother showed you mercy, despite everything your friends did. I won't make that mistake."

"Then come, dictator," she raises her arms in challenge, "show me what you have."

Kuvira responds by launching a barrage of shards at her, and the fight begins.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author here. Thought I'd say, this is part 1 of what was originally going to be a single chapter. I decided to split it up as it would have been far too long as 1 chapter. I mean, reading over 13000 words in one go? Christ. Part 2 will come shortly. As always, leave a review if you have any questions about anything.


	3. Enforcing Authority

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Retainer! Dilong One is down! Extract her to a pickup zone and wait for Kunai Two to medevac her!"
> 
> "What does that even mean?!"
> 
> "Pick her up and carry her out of the building!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I overused 'terrorist' and 'insurgent' to the point of terminal frustration. 
> 
> Hello again. I have many old chapters I had forgotten to post on AO3. I'll be doing that over the coming month. And maybe, I'll finish this damn thing.

Bolin dives to the floor as a boulder the size of his fist zooms towards him, the fragment of stone brushing the tip of his head as it shatters on the wooden floor. He pushes himself up, scrambling to bend the broken rock as he twists his body, gathering enough momentum to propel the earth back at the insurgent, who cartwheels out of the way of the oncoming projectile.

 

Bolin's struggling with this earthbender; he's good, and Bolin's aggressive earthbending technique is failing to make any sort of impact on his opponent's form. Desperately, he looks around to see if anyone can help, but the other members of the Inner Circle have either fled to get help or are busy fighting for themselves; as Bolin watches, Bingchen propels himself forwards with his earthbending, punching a woman in the face with enough force to knock her out. He slams his heel into the ground, creating a barrier out of the earth, and uses the time provided by the move to help up his wife, who's pinned under the terrorist's unconscious body. They retreat back to the entrance of the podium, kicking the dirt in order to create a tremor that knocks a couple of nonbenders off their feet.

 

Bolin imitates Bingchen's earlier movement, rotating his upper body as he does so in order to create a rushing barrier of rock that divides a small group of earthbending anarchists, smashing their barrier into dust and forcing them to relocate behind one of the podium's crimson pillars. His chosen target vaults over the rock at the moment of collision, kicking a clump of rocks up and sending them hurtling towards Bolin. Bolin connects his knee and elbow and digs deep into his pools of chi, and is rewarded with a great slab of earth that pulls itself out of the ground underneath the wooden floorboards of the vast gazebo, the rock vibrating with spiritual energy as the chi animates the inanimate soil with the power to level cities.

 

The rocks slam into the barrier one after the other, and Bolin is forced backwards, the block wavering as he threatens to lose control over the piece of rock. But as the final piece of rock hits the barrier, Bolin claps the backs of his hands together and pulls them apart, tearing his impromptu cover into two pieces with them. He hurls them at his opponent, who successfully darts out of the way of one of the boulders, and straight into the path of the other.

 

Bolin whoops as the terrorist goes down in a pile of dust, rocks and splintered bone, but his celebration is short lived when a melon-sized rock collides straight into his diaphragm, winding him and sending him sprawling onto the wooden decking. As he moves to get up, a nonbender approaches, his PDGs hissing as bolts of ice-blue lightning play over the copper tekko, and Bolin winces from the expectation of the upcoming discharge.

 

And then suddenly Gao is there, the unusually short General standing in front of Bolin's prone form as he manipulates two long spools of steel cable with his metalbending. He cracks his hand forward, and one of the cables strikes the terrorist in the chest with enough force to send him flying backwards, a gash opened up in his shirt. He smacks into the floorboards, skidding far enough to stagger another insurgent, opening herself up to a whip attack from Gao. As Bolin picks himself up, checking to see if his ribs are still in working order, Gao wraps a cable around the insurgent, pinning her arms by her sides as she struggles in vain against the wire. Suddenly, Gao yanks his arm back, and the insurgent comes flying straight towards him. Bolin is worried that his comrade is going to collide with the screaming terrorist, but as he watches, Gao pulls his other fist back and uppercuts the woman right as she's about to hit him. She goes down with a sigh, and the general unwraps her, directing his attentions at a pair of benders who have constructed a barricade out of one of the pillars.

 

"What are you standing around for, child?" Gao yells at Bolin in his usual, humourless manner. "Go help Kuvira! I've got these two under control!" He indicates in their employer's direction, where Kuvira is struggling to block a barrage of punches from the terrorist leader, her Personal Defence Gloves discharging their electronic payload every time it impacts the hovering metal shield that Kuvira is using to defend herself. Most of the fletchettes have reattached to her, forming an additional layer of armour against the insurgent's blows, but Bolin knows from experience that metal only amplifies the effects of those weapons, and Kuvira will only last so long against an opponent as aggressive as hers. Bolin starts to bend a segment of rock at the nonbender, tearing a chunk out of a pillar, but he's disrupted when a trio of smaller stones slam into his arm, sending him careening into the floor.

 

The earthbender he was fighting before is back again; his eyes hidden behind a pair of red-tinted goggles that glow like firelights. He's removed a PDG off one of his downed compatriots, and he complements his upgrade by bending a glove out of the dirt to form a tekko made of sandstone. He slams the two gloves together in an act of intimidation, three month-old brass colliding with aeons-old rock in a crash of noise and lightning, and he charges Bolin, leaping into the air and bringing his foot down towards his head.

 

Bolin throws himself to one side, rolling away from a jagged hole in the wooden floorboards. He whips around, ripping a disc-shaped chunk out of the earth underneath and hurling it at his target, who has managed to get himself jammed into a hole that he has apparently punched through himself. As the disc whirls towards the goggled terrorist, he panics, pushing himself further into the hole in his mad dash to get away from Bolin's renewed assault and accidentally lodging himself further into his  wooden prison. The earthbender tries to push himself out of the hole, plunging his hand into the earth as if it were made of dough and twisting hard enough to separate a perfectly circular segment of earth underneath him. Yet before he can propel himself upwards, Bolin tears out a huge slab of the wall and throws it over his hole, imprisoning the bender.

 

Bolin knows that won't last; once the bender clears away the wood around him it's child play for him to break open the lid on his jail, but Bolin's only looking to buy himself enough time to reinforce Kuvira. And not a moment too soon; Kuvira looks exhausted from her opponent's constant barrage of attacks, and as Bolin rushes to her aid the terrorist leader scores a lucky hit with her PDG, pumping electricity into the metal armour covering Kuvira as the Secretary-General arches her back and screams, her muscles spasming as her nerve endings misfire over and over again. The terrorist lets go of her and Kuvira topples backwards, her body smoking from the electric current.

 

Bolin cries out her name, and Bingchen glances over to see what the source of the disturbance is, his face dropping once he spots the still form of his superior lying at the feet of the anarchist. He cries out to Hu, who responds by bending the earth at his feet, propelling him straight towards the terrorist who's too busy taunting at Bolin to register an eighty-five kilogram object hurtling towards her with a fist raised. The resulting collision is audible from where he's standing, and he can only stare as Bingchen proceeds to raise a huge barrier between them, kicking it towards the prone insurgent.

 

As the anarchist is sent flying backwards by the wall, Bingchen turns to Bolin.

 

"Retainer! Dilong One is down! Extract her to a pickup zone and wait for Kunai Two to medevac her!"

 

"What does that even mean?!"  


" _Pick her up and carry her out of the building!_ " Bingchen reinforces his point by carving a slice out of the earth barrier he created, slamming a number of bad guys into a partition.

 

"What are you waiting for, Bolin?! Get her to safety, _now_! That's an order, retainer!"

 

Bolin doesn't talk back; Bingchen is his military senior, and Kuvira's safety is priority number one for every one of the Inner Circle. They all swore they would sacrifice their lives if it meant that Kuvira could get to safety, and it's beginning to look like they're going to have to fulfill their oath. As Bolin attends to Kuvira, he presses his fingers to her neck to check for a pulse, and he sighs with relief when he detects a faint heartbeat. He slowly picks her up, sliding one arm underneath her neck and the other under her knees, and he begins to jog towards the exit.

 

He's about to step outside when he's suddenly knocked off his feet by something impacting his back with enough force to throw him forwards, landing on the edge of the steps and groaning as Kuvira slips out of his grasp, skidding across the floor to rest against a wall. He tries to force himself to his knees, to continue with the extraction, but someone grabs hold of his neck and lifts him up into the air, before slamming him back into the floorboards. Bolin rolls out of the way of a punch that shatters the wooden plank his head was resting on, and sweeps his legs in the hope of knocking over his assailant. His only reward is a deep chuckle, and a closer look at his attacker.

 

Goggles Man managed to break out of his impromptu prison, and though he can't see his expression, Bolin knows that he is not happy.

 

"This was supposed to be an easy operation," yells the terrorist as he punches Bolin in the gut. "You've proven to be a liability. You're no use to us alive anymore!" The terrorist raises his fists above his head for a coup de grace, the PDG on the brink of overloading with the amount of electricity it's spewing out, and as he brings it down over Bolin's head, all he can think about is how he never told Opal how much he loves her.

 

But suddenly, a shard of steel impacts into the hand concealed by the earth, wrapping around his wrist before suddenly ascending, halting the death blow as Goggles Man rises into  the air, kicking and spitting curses as he tries to pry off the piece of metal with his gauntlet. For his efforts, another piece of steel slams into his ankle, and the two shards are bent into the ceiling.

 

Kuvira has managed to recover from her electrocution, and though she's down on one knee, she still has the strength and enough chi to save Bolin from an ignoble end. Yet the effort of bending her shards with that level of dexterity drains her, and she slumps back onto the floor, exhausted after her ordeal. Bolin runs to pick her up, but she slaps his hands away.

 

"I can walk. Help me up; I'll provide cover."

 

"Kuvira, are you serious? In case you haven't noticed, you've just been electrocuted! Really badly!" Bolin grinds his teeth with exasperation; while Kuvira's determination is a part of her that he admires, sometimes the only purpose it serves is to irritate him to the point of screaming.

 

"I've had worse. Now let's get to extraction." This statement is surprising. Bolin would have expected her to be right back in the action, and Kuvira catches a glimpse of that assumption on his face.

 

"I may be stubborn, but I'm not stupid. I need a healer. I'm no use to the others if I'm in this state." Bolin nods in agreement, and they begin to walk down the steps, Bolin supporting Kuvira's weight on his shoulders, her arm using him as a support, and as they reach the bottom stair, he realises that he never got a chance to tell Kuvira what he had noticed before the assault.

 

"Kuvira, before the attack, I wanted to warn you about something."

 

"Really? What was that?"  


"The Dai Li. They'd vanished. All of them, even the Secretariat just disappeared. Poof! Like spirits." Kuvira's brow narrows as she realises what this discovery means.

 

"You think we were set up?"

 

"I'm not pointing any fingers here," Bolin assures Kuvira, "but if I was, I'd be pointing all ten of them at the Secretariat. Not posting guards in the crowd, limiting our attachment? It's obvious they at the least knew the Red Lotus would attack us today. If they even are Red Lotus."

 

"Oh, we're Red Lotus alright!"

 

The two of them spin round and come face to face with the leader of the insurgents, her fists raised in a blocking stance while two earthbenders behind her stomp chunks of soil into the air, compressing them into balls that are as hard as any rock. Bolin tries to assume a basic stance, but his power is limited thanks to Kuvira's injured body getting in the way. Likewise, Kuvira is having difficulty manipulating one of her shards; she's resorted to using one of her larger sode components, bending it into a razor-sharp dart that points at the Lotus cell leader. The leader points at Bolin from behind her stance, shifting onto the balls of her feet to provide her with an extra boost in speed.

 

"You have given us great difficulty in completing our objective," she mutters in a Ba Sing Se lilt, "and ordinarily I would kill you and be done with it. However, I'm going to give you a chance to release yourself from the shackles of servitude. Give up the dictator, and we'll let you live." Bolin edges backwards as the anarchists advance, eyes darting between the two benders and the nonbender. Taking out the nonbender would leave him exposed to retaliation from the earthbenders, but eliminating the earthbender would preoccupy him long enough for the anti-bender to close in and zap him with those gloves of hers. Sensing Bolin's intentions, their leader gives a chuckle.

 

"You can't fight three of us at once. It's hopeless. Now," she takes a step forwards, sparking her PDGs into life, "give us Kuvira, or die."

 

Bolin suddenly bumps into a blackened, smoking ruin that was part of the curtain wall, and he gasps. He's standing in the epicentre of where the bomb detonated, and horror fills him when he looks at what covers the floor. _Those monsters._

 

There's no escape now; the earthbenders move to flank them, slowly carving their slabs of rock into great spears, while the anarchist leader slams her arc throwers together and slowly pulls apart, creating a wedge of lightning that crackles from glove to glove. Bolin shares a glance with Kuvira, and they know that this is the end.

 

But then Bolin remembers his other ability. The reason why he was hired, the skill that only he could perform.  He swore never to use it in offensive circumstance, but as the nonbender approaches them, a net of lightning forming in her overloading PDGs, it looks like he doesn't have much of a choice. He tries to convince himself one last time that he won't bend it, he _won't_ , but his attention is dragged back to the floor.

 

The bomb was no dud. Although it detonated at the outskirts of the crowd, there were simply too many people packed into the seating area, and the explosive simply scythed through the audience like a knife through warm butter. The ground is a charnel house,  and these sick, twisted sociopaths are responsible for this massacre.

 

And just like that, Bolin is filled with a burning rage, and he can feel his chi surging from his spine, infusing his arms and legs with spiritual energy. But there's another source of the chi too; a billowing heat surges from his stomach, rising towards his throat and the palms of his fists. The earth whispers to him, urging to be remoulded into whatever he desires, and he takes a deep breath, pushing Kuvira behind him as he jumps forward. He simoultaneously slamms both his hands and a foot into the ground, energising a swathe of soil in front of him. He brings his arms up and crosses them, before bringing them apart in a fast slicing motion. And as he does so, the ground starts to glow. Before his opponents react, he takes a step backwards, palms forming a shield against the heat that's being generated. The ground shrieks to him now, overflowing with chi and heat, and he draws deep into these reserves and he _pushes._

* * *

 

 

Arnaq is having the worst three days of his life.

 

Firstly, he's told that he, of all the people qualified for the job in the _Southern Telegraph_ , is going to have to go to Ba Sing Se and be the one who secures not only pictures but also an interview with the upcoming leader of the city. Then, after spending a fortnight on a fishing ship in rough seas with a crew who didn't speak a word of Anukitut, he arrives to find he's checked into an absolute dive of a hostel in the Lower Ring. He's spent three days in the city, trying to keep his camera safe from inquisitive hands and prying eyes while simultaneously trying to stay alive on what has to be the most unhygenic cuisine he's ever had the chance to experience. And now, on the big day, not only do the other journalists block his view, ruining any chance of taking a decent shot, terrorists decide to attack as well.

 

 _If I get out of this, I'm taking my severance package and leaving this newspaper for good,_ Arnaq decides as he slowly makes his way towards the exit when he hears lulls in the intense skirmish that's occurring behind him in the ruins that was a gazebo. He started his career in newspapers so he could get a personal insight into the lives of international celebrities, not so he could dodge stray chunks of earth as he crawls through a toxic mixture of mud and blood and other things that he doesn't even want to acknowledge.  His nice suit is in ruins, spattered with the mixture to such an extent that he'll never wash the stains off. He lost his notepad and pencil somewhere in the chaos that occurred when the bomb went off. Thankfully, his camera is still in one piece. At least he won't have to explain the loss to his boss when he returns back to the South Pole.

 

The exit (an arch flanked by two badgermoles rendered in jade) is dead ahead, and Arnaq makes a break for it, one hand clamped to his camera and the other firmly onto his hat as he sprints towards the gate where safety awaits. But as he rushes towards his path out of the madhouse that the announcement area has become, he notices flashes of light coming from a segment of wall that's dangerously close to where he's headed.

 

The journalist groans, displeased by the prospect of having to face even more danger, and he hits the dirt, wallowing through the mud in an attempt to stay out of sight while raising his precious camera to keep it clean. Miraculously, it's still spotless, despite every other inch of himself being caked in filth. He uses a row of chairs as his cover, sneaking through the rows as he curses his employers for sending him to this backwards hole of a nation.  His cursing serves as an ample distraction to leave him thoroughly surprised when a terrorist lands right in front of him, rolling as he impacts the ground, his body smoking from the cooling rock attached to his chest.

 

At first, Arnaq is terrified. From the looks of it, the man is dead, but he realises that the body is breathing, albeit shallowly.  The rock that envelopes the man's chest is unlike nothing he's ever seen; as he watches, it cools to a shine, the sun glimmering off the black rock, and he gingerly reaches out to touch it. It's still warm, but it's also completely smooth, like glass. Arnaq's seen this before, when he went on holiday to the Fire Nation with his ex-wife; it's obsidian, black glass made in the hearts of volcanoes. The old civilisation of the Sun Warriors used blades made from the stuff in ancient rituals, and jewellery constructed from obsidian was in vogue when he was there. Even the men owned rings and cufflinks made from the glass. What on earth was obsidian doing wrapped around this terrorist? He pokes his head up above the line of chairs, and finds his answer.

 

The area is filling with smoke, the particulates thick and heavy on his tongue, and through the clouds of ash Arnaq makes out the silhouettes of people fighting. Two of them are back to back, one supporting the other as they bend red hot fire at two separate figures, bright flashes of light arcing from the arms of one of the pair's opponents as they leap and pirouette over the projectiles of the two benders. Judging by the hue of their attacks, Arnaq assumes that they're firebenders, but then he remembers the obsidian glass covering the anarchist's chest. He's never heard of any firebender capable of doing that, you'd need to melt rocks before you can transform it into obsidian. Arnaq ducks as the man who's bending fire rips a chunk of earth out of the ground and tosses it Arnaq's way, who ducks in the nick of time. Now Arnaq is thoroughly confused; the silhouette is bending fire and earth, but the Avatar's a woman.  This is impossible!

 

Arnaq opens his film box, loading a small roll of 120mm cellulite as he twists his flash bulb into activity, silently praying to the spirits to hasten his actions; if he manages to snap some decent shots of this paradoxical bender, he stands to make a lot of money. As he clicks the film tape into place, another bender soars overhead and collides into a mass of chairs, one of his arms covered in a mass rapidly cooling rocks. The sole remaining opponent leaps out of the smoke, and turns to flee, her arc throwers deactivating as she starts to leap and bound over the rows of chairs, unknowingly headed right towards Arnaq. He yelps and begins to back away out of a fear of being caught in the crossfire, when suddenly she cries out, toppling over as a lump of rock impacts her in the back, moulding around her arms as it steams with heat. Arnaq deduces that the material is flash-cooled lava, reduced of its heat at the moment before impact to lessen its lethality. Only a lavabender could be capable of a feat like this. And Arnaq is aware that there's only one existing lavabender in the world. He begins to stand up, turning knobs on his camera to adjust it for bloom and contrast, and as he raises the camera to his eye, he's presented with one of the most dramatic stills he's ever seen.

 

The Secretary-General herself is staggering out of the smoke, her hand covering a patch of wet crimson on her side, wincing with every step she takes. Her face is a mask of self-control Next to her is none other than Bolin, supporting her weight with his shoulders, an expression of determined rage on his face as his scours the area for more targets, a coiling snake of magma floating in the air beside him as he clenches his fist, controlling the motions of the chi bound earth as he grits his teeth in anger, eyes blazing with hate and a determination to wreak vengeance on those who would dare to attack his leader, his subjects-

 

Wreathed in the smoke and framed by the burning light of the molten sandstone, Arnaq seizes his chance, and takes the shot of a lifetime.

* * *

 

 

 Bolin steps out of the smoke, twisting a thick ribbon of lava in the air as he struggles to control the volatile liquid. The molten rock screams to him, promising his destruction should he break its bonds and relinquish his control of it; pebbles and loam are not meant to be in this state. It's the reason why he rarely uses lavabending; he can hear the screaming of the rock at this betrayal of bending, and its newfound lust to burrow into the ground and rejoin its new kindred deep, deep inside the earth's mantle, where it will sing the song of continental drift for all eternity.

 

The two cronies are out cold; while they're breathing, the cooled lava has trapped them, forming a glossy casing that encases them. It's obsidian. Bolin is surprised by this new revelation; sure, lava created obsidian, but that's a purely natural process. Obsidianbenders have never existed before. But then again, neither had lavabenders until Ghazan came along, and in this day and age, it seems like any sort of bending is possible. Bolin makes a mental note to try and learn the basic forms of how to bend it. It could prove useful in the future.

 

There's a sudden flash of light, a momentary dot hidden in the mangled heap of fold-out chairs, and Bolin whips around, cooling the edge of his whip of lava. He turns it towards the pile of metal, the cooled igneous rock beginning to form an edge of obsidian.

 

"Who's there?" yells Bolin, his voice lined with authority. He's had it with these anarchists; Kuvira is slowly bleeding out next to him from a gash she received during their fight just now, crimson ichor staining her olive-green uniform. There's bodies everywhere. He's come very, very close to breaking his one rule, and if the Red Lotus Blossom stands up, he might just break it.

 

Instead, he sees a civilian, sputtering apologies as he rises, backing away from the couple as he cradles a camera, a battered, mud-spattered trilby resting on his head. _A journalist_?

 

"A thousand apologies, Secretary-General," the cameraman stammers out, his Water Tribe-blue suit stained with filth, "I didn't mean to cause offence, I just wanted a good shot for my newspaper, please don't cocoon me with obsidian-"

 

Bolin clenches his fist and brings it down, cooling the lava as it splashes onto the soil, the chi trilling in adulation as the earth returns to its original state, dust to dust. He gestures at the journalist to come over.

 

"What are you doing here?" Bolin queries the journalist. "I thought that Corporal Yao had evacuated the audience. You realise this area is under attack from the Red Lotus? We have to get you to safety immediately."

 

"Sorry, sir, I'll be on my way right now." Bolin grabs him by the shoulder as he brushes past.

 

"What's your name anyway?"

 

"Arnaq." Bolin smiles at him; his public face has been put on, and if there's one thing he learnt in the arena, it's that the crowds always love a smile.

 

"Well, Arnaq, I need your help. Could you take my friend's other arm? She's lost a lot of blood, and I need to move her fast."

 

"I'm strong enough to...to walk," Kuvira slurs as she leans into Bolin. Even as she faces death, she's still as stubborn as a boar-q-pine. "Leave me, citizen." She offers no protest as the two men pick up an arm and a leg, shifting her into a sitting position in the gap between them, her arms resting on their shoulders. Once she's secure, they begin to shuffle, heading towards the exit where safety awaits. He hopes that the ambulance service has arrived. His priority order was to get Yao to contact the emergency services as soon as they had the evacuation underway.

 

The only thing that greets him is Yao's squad, who are zooming down the main street in a 'requisitioned' Sato-mobile, the engine screaming as they push it to the limit. Behind the automotive is a truck with the steel sigil of the Unificators emblazoned on its doors, a tarpaulin cover protecting the occupants of the flatbed. As the truck pulls over, two surgeons wearing Unificator-issue medic uniforms run out, taking Kuvira from the two men. Baatar Junior steps out of the passenger seat of the truck; his uniform is covered with dust, and he's managed to find a sai somewhere, the dagger strapped to his belt providing a measure of authority about him that Bolin rarely sees. The Beifong rushes over to Kuvira, nearly panicking at the sight of her.

 

"Oh spirits. Bolin, what happened to her?" Bolin salutes in response; despite their relative closeness thanks to their status as members of the Inner Circle, he's still his superior in the field. Even if he's never fought a day in his life.

 

"Electrocution followed by a deep wound to her thorax, sir. I managed to defeat our attackers, but she needs a doctor. She's hurt real bad, Baatar."

 

"I'm...fine. Bolin." Kuvira is barely conscious; the medics are fully supporting her, and the star-shaped patterns associated with electrical burns have begun to form on her arm and neck. Mercifully, those burns won't reach her face, but that mercy will count for nothing if the doctors don't stabilise her immediately. She smiles lopsidedly when she sees Baatar.

 

"Hey...are you alright? You don't look too good, Baatar."

 

"I'm fine, Kuvira. Don't worry about me. Let's just get you into the truck." Kuvira suddenly takes hold of Baatar's hand, and his breath catches.

 

"Baatar...there's a lot of things that I need to tell you. About...well."

 

"Can this wait until we're in the truck?" Baatar remarks as they head towards the impromptu medical gurney that has been wheeled out of the vehicle. "We need to get you stabilised immediately." Kuvira looks at him and nods, drowsy from her injury, and they enter the truck. They hold hands all the way into the truck, Bolin notes; he always knew that there was something else going on between them; how they'd stay behind after meetings to talk in private, or how they would embrace when they thought no one was looking. That hug on the podium was merely their announcement to the world that they were together. Now, it seems like they feel free enough to express how they truly feel. It's heartwarming.

 

At least it would be if Arnaq wasn't furiously taking pictures like his career depended on it. Which, in fairness, it probably did.

 

"Hey man, that's not cool," Bolin protests against the journalist's dogged insistence on using up an entire roll of film for shots of the couple. "Leave them alone. They've been through enough today."

 

 "I can't get enough of these shots!" Arnaq exclaims as the flash bulb strobes, his finger tapping as fast as it can. He doesn't stop once Baatar and Kuvira get into the truck, whirling around to take photos of Bolin point-blank, continuing even when Bolin places his hand over the camera lens.

 

"Come on, let's get you to safety," Bolin huffs as he pushes the protesting paparazzi towards Yao's team, who salute as he opens the passenger door and shoves him into the back seat.

 

"Bolin! How would you feel about having an exclusive interview?" His response is the slam of the car's door. Bolin rolls his eyes. Paparazzi; they always have the same pseudo-personal attitude to everyone, no matter what's going on. He makes a point of ignoring the banging coming from the Satomobile's window as he approaches Yao's team.

 

"Corporal, how'd the evacuation go?" Yao sighs, rubbing the back of his head.

 

"Worse than you predicted. That bomb took out enough of the audience to send the rest into a panic, and they almost stampeded out of the seating area. We had to escort them on foot to see them to safety."

 

"On foot?" Bolin arches an eyebrow at this. "What about the emergency services?"

 

"What emergency services? Dispatch sent no one here; no police, no ambulances, not even a blimp. When we tried to contact them, they hung up on us."

 

"Woah, back up there. They hung up on you? In the middle of a terrorist attack?"

 

"Yes, sir." Yao crosses his arms, clearly disturbed by the authorities' lack of care. "I don't know what's going on in their HQ, but it's not good. It seems extremely fishy to me."

 

"Maybe the Red Lotus got to them? From what we've seen, they like pulling a fast one on us when we least expect it."

 

"No, I didn't hear anything in the man's tone to suggest there was fighting there. They simply...didn't care. I smell a rat here, sir. I think we've been set up."

 

"But by who? Unless the Red Lotus have infiltrated the police station completely, there's no way they wouldn't send help. Who could possibly..." And then suddenly, like a light being flicked on in a room, Bolin realises who has that power over the police.

 

"Yao, you're right. We have been set up. I need you and your men to escort the Secretary-General and Arnaq back to safety."

 

"But sir...we want to fight." His men assent to this, tightening metal strips on their uniforms and grasping hold of their daos in their sheathes. They want to take vengeance on these terrorists. But there are far more important matters to consider.

 

"I know you do, Corporal, but right now, Kuvira's safety is paramount. We lose everything if the Red Lotus - if they even are Red Lotus - kill her. You have to take them back to our offices. If our opponents are who I think they are, they'll have men in the hospitals too."

 

"Sir, I-"

 

"That's an order, Yao! Now get going! I'll worry about them. You worry about that truck."

 

Faced with that command, all Yao can do is salute.

 

"Acknowledged, sir. The spirits watch over you," he states as he climbs into the driver seat.

 

"And may they watch over you too, Yao." Bolin waits around to see the truck and their escort sputter into life before turning around, running as fast as he can back to the podium.

Hopefully, he's not too late.

* * *

 

Gao spits an oath as an earthbender sidesteps one of his whips, the metal cord hitting the wall with enough speed to punch a hole into it. Bingchen and Hu are out, lying in a crumpled heap next to each other as two terrorists jam their fingers into his compatriots' chi meridians, taking them out of the fight. It's only him now, and he's feeling the pressure that comes with a ten versus one fight.

 

He shoots out a lash of corded metal, sending it arching to the left before he sweeps it in an arc, catching one of the terrorists straight in the back. She folds like a cheap suit, her body coursing with pain as the cord cuts a gash from her cocyx to a point underneath her breast. Gao retracts the whip back into his hip mounted reels, stomping a piece of earth out of the ruins of the floor to deflect a barrage of stone missiles. He brings the barrier close to him, plunging his fingers deep into the rock as he slams it into the floor. This generates a wall of rock that rises from the ground, spreading out from the origin rock, and giving Gao a little time to breathe. His attempt at generating a lull in the combat goes to waste, though, as someone vaults over the rock, his gloves sparking with a promise of electric agony as he ducks under the whipcrack of Gao's cables, rushing in with an uppercut.

 

Gao sidesteps his assault, bringing his fist round in a left hook that collides into the terrorist's jaw, the impact sending him reeling. As he steps back, cradling his jaw, Gao lunges towards him, punching him in the solarplexus before following with an uppercut directly between the eyes. He drops like a rock, out cold before he hits the ground. The general whirls around, slashing his whip at a number of insurgents that have forced a breach in the wall, while using his other cable as an escape tool, wrapping it around a beam in the rafters and swinging himself to safety. He rolls as he lands, rotating himself mid-roll to send another sweep at the insurgents, who dodge the metal with ease.

 

He's exhausted by now; he's been fighting non-stop for the past ten minutes, and an accumulation of bruises and cuts leaves him struggling for breath. He's beggining to come down from his adrenaline high at the worst possible moment; he needs every last drop of energy in order to stay alive. Sensing weakness, the insurgents close in like dolphin piranhas, redoubling their assault on him. Gao manages to deflect a number of projectiles with his whip, but is left open to a block that smashes him in the back. He instinctively responds by scouring the area behind him, metal cable arcing through the air, but he's rewarded with a number of blows to his side. He goes down on one knee, and as he rises, he's met with a rock that smashes him straight in the face.

 

Gao's thrown back in the air, the air forced out of his lungs as he lands on his back; cursing the Red Lotus members as blood streams out of the ruin that once was his nose. Even through the pain, he tries to fight; a whip uncoiling as he tries to fight off his opponents. But the metal becomes lifeless and inert, its staccato voice silenced as one of the insurgents punches him in the spine and in the stomach, cutting him off from his chi. The cables suddenly weigh his arms down, and now all he can do is yell profanities at them.  One of them steps forward with a Personal Defence Glove, the generator arcing pseudo-lightning as the nonbender positions the device above his heart.

 

"Any last words, fascist?" The goggled terrorist smirks at him, exulting in his victory over the metal bender, and Gao is about to spit in his face in a last act of defiance until he notices something hurtling towards them. Gao starts to laugh.

 

"Behind you," Gao says in between chuckles. The goggled man frowns.

 

"Wow, as if that's going to work on mOH SPIRITS-"

 

The Lotus member flies backwards, a long cord wrapped around the struggling nonbender, and lands firmly in the grip of the most beautiful thing Gao's ever seen.

 

Zhu Li has returned, and she's wearing what can only be described as powered armour; a suit of o-yoroi armour rendered entirely out of steel with pistons and gears supporting its weight so that a person can stand in one. It has a variety of tools attached to its arms; as well as the aforementioned cable launcher, there's an arc projector strapped to one of its arm and what suspiciously looks like a flamethrower to the other, and the entire thing is powered by wire, a large stretch of it running to a generator at the entrance where Varrick stands, laughing as he field tests his latest toy for the first time.  Gao laughs like a madman; maybe the eccentric billionaire wasn't so bad if these were the kind of toys he was working on in his spare time.

 

"Hahahaha! I knew cable launchers would come in handy! Now, Zhu Li," he commands, pointing at the insurgents who have frozen like rabaroos in headlights.

 

"Do the thing!"

 

Zhu Li cracks a smile as the projector begins to spool up, energy wreathing her left fist as she raises her open hand at the group.

 

"It would be my pleasure, sir."

* * *

 

A massive bolt of lightning discharges from the device, striking the centre of the group with enough explosive force to launch them into the air. The woman she targeted is too slow to react, and is hit so hard that she bursts through the wall, skidding across the grass like a kicked ball. Zhu Li follows up this attack by launching the goggled man into the air with a mighty throw, the terrorist wheezing as the air is driven out of him by his collision with the ceiling.

 

The other insurgents have managed to pick themselves up by now, though they're on edge; whoever this girl and her suit were, she's managed to take out two of their team in less than three seconds without breaking a sweat. One of them rips out a slab of concrete foundation and lobs it at her. To their satisfaction, she's unable to dodge the blow, stumbling backwards as the refined rock-composite shatters; evidently, the suit is just a prototype, unused to combat, and they can exploit this lack of poise very easily.

 

Zhu Li triggers her flamethrower, sending the terrorists back as a gout of burning oil erupts from her right arm. She whips the flame in a semi-circle around herself, preventing her attackers from directly assaulting her, and giving her much needed time to evaluate the situation. Evidently, she can't take many hits from those rocks, and if those nonbenders get close enough they'll overload her suit. She needs to get to the generals; their survival is as important as Kuvira's, and she'd rather let the Red Lotus members escape over having to explain to her boss why three of her greatest tacticians are dead.

 

She decides to make a break for it, running through the fire towards Gao, who's managed to prop himself up on one arm, wheezing as he inhales the smoke coming from the fire she's started. He doesn't resist when Zhu Li picks him up and unceremoniously hoists him over her shoulder.

 

"Wow, you and your boyfriend have got to make some of these suits for my boys." Zhu Li grits her teeth as a rock glances off her shoulder, and she's barely able to recover from the blow.

 

"Our relationship is strictly professional, General," she yells as she sends another bolt of lightning crackling towards a nonbender, who rolls out of the path of the energy bolt. "And we just need to work out the problems with this suit first!"

 

"Is that why you're wearing it in a combat scenario?" Zhu Li tuts in reply, sending another beam of lightning towards her opponents. The attack glances off an anarchist's thigh as he tries to leaps over the beam, and he drops like a shadow puppet with its strings cut. She sidesteps as a nonbender attempts to grapple her, gloves flashing with lightning, and the assistant who's never done a day's worth of martial arts in her life delivers a backhand right into the insurgent's jaw. Varrick pumps his fist in the air as her opponent falls listlessly to the ground.

 

"Excellent work, Zhu Li!" he cheers as he fiddles with a knob on the generator. "I'm getting A star results out there! Now I've cranked up the juice, so smash those terrorists to pieces!"

 

They've reached Bingchen and Hu, and she effortlessly lifts them onto her other shoulder. The extra juice provided by the generator has made a massive impact to her strength, and she turns towards the exit, the injured generals stacked over both her shoulders.

 

She gasps as she sees one of the terrorists restraining Varrick, her boss struggling against the anarchist's iron grip. The other Lotus member waves with one hand as she yanks out the power cord with the other.

 

It's as if she's suddenly gained a tonne of weight. She stops moving, unable to move any of her limbs thanks to the sheer weight of the suit. The generals are sent rolling from the impact as she topples like a willow in a storm. The air is knocked out of Zhu Li as she slams face first into the floorboards, the wood cracking under her weight. She struggles futilely against the suit's straps, hoping beyond hope that she can pull herself out of the metal tomb the prototype has become before-

 

Zhu Li curses when she hears footsteps approaching her, the telltale buzz of a PDG heralding one of the Red Lotus assailants. She can't move out of this deathtrap, and she has nowhere to go in any case; the fire is beginning to spread towards her, and the insurgent squats in front of her, chuckling as he lifts her chin with his uncovered hand.

 

"I have to admit, this little weapon surprised me. But it's wasn't enough to stop us. You can't stop liberty." He flexes his gloved fingers, the arc thrower switching on with a flash of light.

 

"Now, accept my gift to you. A quicker end than roasting in that metal oven. A shame you won't be there to see the dawn of our era!"

 

Zhu Li screws her eyes tight, preparing for the shock that will silence her forever. She never did get to tell that buffoon Varrick what she really thought of him. And she knows she never will. As the glove descends, she feels a strange sort of emptiness, as if her body is draining itself of emotion, readying herself for another cycle in the endless dance of reincarnation.

 

Something's wrong. Zhu Li should be dead by now. She doesn't feel the presence of the nonbender, his rough fingers on her chin. Is this what death feels like? If she opens her eyes, will she be treated to the sight of her astral self? Or her first glimpse through her next reincarnation?

 

She opens her eyes, and is greeted with Varrick's face, inches away from hers. He chuckles to himself as she bites on her tongue to prevent herself from screaming out of shock. She's still in the suit, and still in the same position, but the terrorists are gone, and the fire no longer licks at the soles of the suit.

 

"Zhu Li! You were incredible out there!" Varrick exclaims, gesticulating wildly as she feels suit surge with energy once more. She pulls herself up to her feet, flicking the deactivation switch as she steps out of the armour, which has opened up like a flower. Varrick suddenly opens his arms as if he's about to hug her, and Zhu Li's heart flutters for a second. But Varrick walks straight past her, embracing the suit as he kisses its exterior.

 

"This big, beautiful baby is a success! A relatively average success! All we need do is internalise the power supply and increase the suit's stability and bam! We're looking at the Mark 1 Varrick-pattern Mechanised External Combat Harness! Or the V-M.E.C.H. as I like to call it!" Zhu Li folds her hands behind her back, assuming her standard stance of polite attentiveness and patience. Varrick whirls around to his assistant.

 

"Zhu Li! Next time, try not to let the bad guys unplug the power! And when we get back, make us some of that special tea to celebrate!"

 

"Sir," Zhu Li interrupts, a hand raised in supplication, "I have to ask. What happened?"

 

"What happened? Why, Bolin happened, of course! He just kicked down the wall and covered the terrorists with that weird molten glass-goo attack of his! He apparently just figured out how to bend lava that way mid-fight! I tell you, the kid's got buried genius!"

 

Zhu Li locates Bolin; he's busy dragging terrorists out of the shell of the podium, leaving them unconscious as Unificator metalbenders restrain their hands and legs with wire. Some of the terrorists have woken up, and are glaring at their jailers with an intensity that rivals the sun.

 

"Who brought the metalbenders, sir?"

 

"Old Man Qiang, of course! Didn't Bolin tell you? He had him and a squad of metalbenders stationed a couple blocks away to come running in case of danger! That kid really does think of everything! Now, Zhu Li, start moving this suit! I'm gonna need it back in the lab ASAP if I need to rebuild it!" She suppresses a groan, moving towards the generator in order to shut it down, but her attention is drawn to a small crowd of figures striding up the stairs, and her heart sinks.

 

"Sir? I think I'll get back into the suit."

 

The Grand Secretariat of the Dai Li has arrived with reinforcements, and she looks very, very upset.


	4. Schismatic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kuvira is looming over the Secretariat now, fire and fury coursing through her bruised body. The last time Bolin saw Kuvira this angry, she was fighting the team that had turned the Kingdom into a political quagmire, and had turned his best friend into a paraplegic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't recently written. I wrote this in February this year, as are most of the chapters. I'm merely uploading them, bringing them up to date with the copies on Fanfiction.net.
> 
> Maybe I'll come back to this fic. One day.

They're in the middle of apprehending the terrorists when she arrives.

Bolin slowly lowers the unconscious body of a Red Lotus insurgent to the floor of the ruined podium as the Grand Secretariat of the Dai Li walks up the stairs. The clack of her polished slippers is echoed by the thumping of her escorts' rock boots, the loud rapports ringing in unison as the espionage specialists march with a clockwork precision that speaks volumes of their impressive training.

The elderly stateswoman looks very angry. She glances down at the helpless anarchists, and Bolin catches a glimmer of disappointment in her expression. The terrorists seem to melt away from her glare, looking ashamed. _That's odd_. They never flinched like this before her arrival. On the contrary, they struggled like wild cats. Is there something going on between the Dai Li and the Red Lotus? Or are they afraid of the wizened crone's forces? His train of thought is suddenly disrupted when a manicured fingernail almost takes his eye out, its owner red with rage.

"And just where do you think you are taking these prisoners?" she exclaims, nearly spitting with her fury. "In accordance with Article 6, Section 1, Subsection 3 of Ba Sing Se's Great Charter, all criminals guilty of crimes against heads of state are to be directly handled by the Dai Li! You will break the law if you do not give those anarchists to me!"

"Glad you finally decided to show up, Secretariat." Hu retorts as she joins the argument, placing her hands onto her hips as Bolin folds his arms. "Guess we should've waited for your manicure to dry out before fighting back, hmm?"

"Hold your tongue, Lieutenant-General! This business is strictly between me and the Secretary-General's retainer!"

"No, it's not." Hu spits back, her expression blackening with fury. "According to Bolin, your men vanished right before the attack. Thanks to their absence, Kuvira was almost assassinated, and twenty people lost their lives as a result. Twenty innocent people, maybe more. My men haven't finished assembling the bits on the field. This is disgraceful. The protection of innocent lives is our number one priority, and we failed thanks to your uncaring attitude."

"The Dai Li's primary objective is to insure that the head of state is protected above everyone else. I would rather sacrifice the lives of some farmers than risk the life of our leader!"

"So is that why you decided to abandon us?" Bolin takes a step forward, breathing deep as he tries to prevent himself from attack the Secretariat. He's never felt this angry before; hearing the official talk about innocent lives as if they are meaningless disturbs ghosts that he had buried long ago. Her attitude disgusts him.

"It was your insistence on not having any Dai Li in the crowd that led to the bomb being detonated! All our men could do was attempt an evacuation! Your behaviour is not-on."

"You had undercover agents in the crowd?" The Secretariat is furious by now, eyes bulging as she verbally harasses the Inner Circle members. "You broke our agreement, boy!"

"Your agreement can go drown in a pile of monkeyfeathers, you hag!" Hu is screaming back at the Secretariat, looming over the bureaucrat as she yells her down. "People died today, and it was all your fault! As a result of this, I am ceasing operations with your men! These prisoners are under our jurisdiction. You aren't getting them, no matter what you do to try and stop us. Come on, retainer. Let's go."

They turn to leave, marching back to the captured Lotus members, but freeze when they hear the shifting, grinding noise of rocks being bent. The terrorists' faces light up with amusement, and they rotate back around.

The Grand Secretariat has her arms folded behind her back, hostility cut into her face. Behind her, her squad of Dai Li have assumed wending-tu stances, their palms pointed towards the duo as their rock gloves shift around their fingers, legs braced into a sturdy position for ease of bending.

"This is non-negotiable, I am afraid," the Secretariat claims with glee. "We're doing this out of a concern for your safety. Those terrorists have already proven themselves as able to overcome you and your compatriots, and we have reason to believe there may be more of these anarchists lurking in the city. Give them to us. We will take good care of them."

"I don't think so." Hu retorts. "I already told you that I won't work with you anymore. They're ours now. Get out before we both do something we will regret."

"You're in no position to argue, Lieutenant-General! Those prisoners won't say a single word while they're under your control. They are trained to resist your techniques of interrogation. We, on the other hand, will make them sing like screeching birds, and we'll know everything about the Red Lotus. Now give us the prisoners before we take them by force!"

The metalbenders are taking battle stances; one of them detaches strips from her suneate to form a small shield, while another uncoils long spools of wire, the steel threads writhing around the bender like pythonacondas. They all have their own unique forms of metalbending, a habit they picked up in Zaofu; their former boss insisted that her Security force developed their own styles of bending, and Kuvira ensured that decree remained in place, training new metalbenders the basics before leaving them to discover their own forms.

Hu tears a chunk of rock out of the ground, levitating it to head height as she takes on a wending-tu stance as well, mirroring the Dai Li exactly.

"These prisoners aren't going anywhere. Now back away, before we make you!" While his disgust of the Secretariat almost forces him to side with Hu and the metalbenders, Bolin is perfectly aware that engaging the Dai Li over such a trivial matter is ridiculous, and he resolves to calm things down. He's about to jump in between

"What do you think you're doing?! Stand down, immediately!"

Bolin clamps his jaw shut, the words stolen right out of his mouth, and he wheels around to salute the figure walking up the stairs, blood-bags mounted on a transfusion stand running into her arms as her weight is supported by a bespectacled man, his frames doing little to hide the concern he has for the injured woman.

"Kuvira?" Bolin cries out. "You're supposed to be in the hospital!"

"I'm fine," she replies, managing to keep a stoic expression on her face despite her injuries. "I can still walk. I needed to check up on the situation back here."

"She insisted, Bolin," Baatar apologises, helping Kuvira up another set of stairs. "I couldn't stop her from coming here if I wanted to." Bolin shrugs in response; he'd have done the exact same thing in his position.

"Regardless of my physical condition, I am demanding that both of you stand down. The Dai Li are our allies, Lieutenant-General Hu. Without them, securing this city would have been impossible."

The Secretariat smirks at that, but the expression falters when Kuvira turns her ire towards her.

"That does not mean I will support your side of the argument. You lost any claim to my prisoners when you ran away to save your own hides. Not only that, you appear to have countered attempts by emergency personnel to assist my guards, putting many lives at stake."

"We did not run away!" The Secretariat thunders at the new leader of Ba Sing Se, her face a contorted picture of fury as her implacable Dai Li shuffle around her, facing the emergent threat of Kuvira as they reposition their stance. "We merely withdrew back to tactically important positions and awaited reinforcements so that we could come back and obliterate the Lotus scum. However, it appears that your new toy beat us to it. And we countered the emergency cars to prevent any more deaths from the Red Lotus! They had compromised dispatch."

Yao moves behind Kuvira, circumventing the wounded Zaofucian as he points angrily at the Dai Li.

"That's not what I could tell when I talked to dispatch! As far as I could tell, they were ordered to not send anyone down to assist us! You set us up to fall!"

"Absolutely preposterous! These claims have no base whatsoever! Secretary-General, is this how you let your rabble talk to their superiors? Punish him immediately!"

"I will do no such thing, Secretariat." Kuvira draws herself up higher, spine straightening as she recovers her pride. "I support Yao's claims, to a reasonable point. I don't believe that you organised the attack. However, I do believe that your horrible sense of timing was more than just coincidental." The Zaofucian glares at the Ba Sing Seian.

"You disqualified any chance of getting those prisoners when you abandoned us at a crucial moment. If you want custody of the Red Lotus terrorists, you're going to have to prove your loyalty to me."

"Why, you-"

"You what?!" Kuvira is looming over the Secretariat now, fire and fury coursing through her bruised body. The last time Bolin saw Kuvira this angry, she was fighting the team that had turned the Kingdom into a political quagmire, and had turned his best friend into a paraplegic.

"Out with it, Secretariat. What am I that makes me so insolent in your eyes, so disobedient? Tell me!" Cowed by this sudden display of authority, the Head of the Dai Li averts her eyes.

"Nothing, Secretary-General. Forgive me. I won't bother you until my agents come across something worth your precious time." And as rapidly as the situation has escalated, the podium returns to its sense of calm. The Dai Li begin to take their leave as the metalbenders reattach their armour, recoiling their whips back around their holsters and returning to the job of securing the insurgents. But Kuvira isn't done yet.

 "Secretariat?" The elderly woman turns to the injured woman, a thin veneer of patience carved into her face.

"Yes, oh Secretary-General?"

"Don't take me for a fool. I've read up on what little history there is of you, and trust me; I am nothing like the Kueis. If you try to manipulate me or my Circle in any way, all you'll find is an empty jail cell with your name written over it. _I_ am in charge here now. You would do well to remember that, Dai Li, if you want to keep your title."

The Secretariat bows in response, her grimace stretched so far that Bolin fears she might tear the skin on her face, and she wheels around to march away with the rest of the black-robed secret police. He's aware that the confrontation that took place before him was significant; it signifies the end of Dai Li control over the city's ruler, however temporary this reprieve might be, and once again, he's filled with respect for Kuvira.

"Way to go, Kuvira!" Bolin hoots, fist pumping the air in celebration. "Show those Dai Li who's boss! They know who's in charge now!"

"Kid, that was barely a victory," Hu mutters. She's sat next to her husband, who's gained a new scar for his collection, a fresh one that's nicked off an earlobe and stretches down to his chin. She dabs the wound with iodine-soaked cotton, eliciting sharp hisses of pain from her partner as he digs his fingernails into his knee as a distraction from the stinging sensation the chemical gives to him.

"Sure, Kuvira gave the Secretariat a good tongue-lashing," she continues, "but that woman's had to deal with far worse tantrums from far more powerful people. She's got backbone, and she won't give up her power without a fight. This battle may have been won, but the war isn't over yet."

"As much as I hate to say it," Bingchen replies, gingerly touching his new, iodine-stained trophy, "my wife is right. Secretariat's used to getting her way, and Kuvira fighting back is the last thing she expected. This feud won't end until she goes or we do."

* * *

 

_Two days after the Resumption Disaster_

Bolin stands outside the entrance to the Avatar Kyoshi Memorial Hospital; the grand, imposing structure dominates the surrounding blocks with its sheer scale. While it's nowhere near as tall as the skyscrapers back in Republic City, the complex more than makes up for it in square miles; Bolin estimates that the building has to be at least 20 acres across.

Somewhere inside the mammoth building, his family are sitting in a lifeless, antiseptic room, waiting for Tu to come out of his chemically-induced stupor. He got the call from Yin last night, when Kuvira was dragged back to the hospital and the Unificators went back to their embassy, emotionally exhausted from their first catastrophe. According to Hu's final count, thirty people died in the bomb set by the anarchists, and their sacrifice has set the city alight with rage against the Red Lotus, against the Dai Li, who fled with their tails between their legs and abandoned the city's new leader to die. Once the journalists came back and started taking films of Corporal Yao posing in front of hog-tied terrorists, the city proclaimed its fealty to Kuvira and her Unificators, marching onto the streets to protest against the horrifying violence inflicted onto their people.

The following day, Kuvira had to make a public address from the confines of her hospital bed, electing to wear her uniform as she narrated to the cameras that she would exact revenge on the perpetrators of this horrifying massacre, that she would bleed for this city. The crowds absorbed her pledge for vengeance like a sponge, and they're now as loyal to the Secretary-General as her Inner Circle; Bolin lost count of how many Unificator sigils there were once he turned down Badgermole Avenue and was met with a literal canopy of the steel-green flags, draped between the apartments in a show of solidarity for their injured leader. Hordes of supporters filled the streets, forming chanting queues of eager young men and women as they signed up with Unificator Corps recruiters, waving flags and clothes that bear the Unificator sigil. Bolin was very impressed at how fast General Qiang could work; he may be a rickety old man, but he's a genius, and those hours-old recruitment booths will bolster the Corps for years to come.

After navigating the crowds for at least two hours, he finally arrived at the hospital foyer, where he now waits as the receptionist contacts the Burns Aftercare ward for any information on _a young man, black hair, explosive burns all over his back, a family of thirty waiting for him in the Aftercare lobby, oh you have him? All right I'll send him through, cheers Deshi-_

He thanks the receptionist who barely registers the gesture, and he makes his way to the Burns foyer. He's greeted by the welcome embrace of his family, jostling and interrupting the relatives of others as they come to hug him. Chow looks as though someone has poked a hole in him and let out all the air inside; he's dishevelled, miserable with worry at what's happened to his son, and his mother consoles him  with an arm around his waist, telling him that _it could have been so much worse, you have to try to count the blessing, not the curse_. She's upset as well; her grandson is injured beyond her capability of care, and she dreads the idea that a nurse might come out, staring at them with pity and sorrow. Bolin moves to sit next to Yin and embraces her, a gesture she does not notice. Chow suddenly looks up, noticing Bolin for the first time since he entered, and he manages to smile.

"I came as fast as I could," Bolin mentions as he tries to comfort his uncle. "What happened?"

"Tu wanted to get us some snacks so he went to a vendor. He was coming back when the bomb detonated." His uncle sighs. "Thank the spirits that he was on the outskirts of the explosion."

"How is he, uncle? Is he..." Chow looks up at him, tears glistening in his eyes.

"The flames got him. He's recovering, but it's going to be difficult. The doctor says that his entire back's got 'second-degree' burns, whatever they are, and he's going to need to spend a while recovering." He buries his face in his hands. "His back's ruined. The doctor's say he won't be able to move for a long time. What kind of a dad am I, to let that happen to his son?"

"It wasn't your fault, uncle." Bolin drapes an arm around his uncle's shoulder as the older man bites back tears. "You couldn't have known there would have been a bomb. No one did." Bolin exhales, sighing as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"We messed up. I wanted to put more people in the crowd who could find this sort of thing, but the Dai Li prevented us. And now, Kuvira's having to write thirty condolence letters to families whose only crime was attending what was supposed to be a great ceremony. It was my fault, Chow. I should have never got you those tickets."

"Don't blame yourself, Bolin," Chow assures his nephew, grasping him in a one-armed hug, "you didn't know about the bomb either. I don't blame you for anything; you did everything you could. I'm just thankful that Tu made it out alive. You know that your men drove the injured here?"

Bolin nods. Yao gave him the debrief; he had to take matters into his own hands after it was clear that the city's Royal Guard weren't sending any ambulances to help them.

"Then you understand us when we say that we can't thank you enough," Chow admits. "Your soldier saved the lives of many people that day, Tu included. He may be injured, but at least he's going to live. Nothing I can do can repay you for saving their lives. Thank you, Bolin. San would be proud of you."

 He smiles at that remark, and he wraps his arms around his uncle, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"That means a lot to me, Chow."

Their display of familial bonding is interrupted by a polite cough, and Bolin notices a doctor standing beside the entrance to the aftercare ward, a clipboard clasped in his gloved hand.

"Are you Tu Song's family?"

Yin nods her confirmation.

"Well, I'm here to say that Tu has recovered from his anaesthetic. He's still a little woozy from the drug, but he said he'd like to see a man called Bolin?"

He stands up and raises his hand.

"That would be me." The doctor smiles.

"If you'd like to follow me."

* * *

 

"Spirits, coz. I'm sorry about this."

Tu is lying on his front in a white, pristine hospital bed. He's holding a newspaper in his hands, turning the pages idly with his fingers fingers. His back is a red ruin of exposed flesh and huge, yellow blisters, a swathe of destruction stretching from his hips all the way to his neck. If it causes him pain, he takes no notice; Tu's hooked up to a wide array of IV bags, tubes running into both arms. Bolin's reminded of spiderwebs when he first catches sight of the mass of plastic wiring that connects his cousin to life-saving fluids and chemicals. A button that's connected to one of these bags hangs loosely of the side of the bed, ready to pump poppy milk into his system at the first sign of discomfort.

Currently, Bolin has his full attention, even though it may be clouded with the chemical haze of medicinal opium.

"Nah, man, you got no reason to be sorry!"

"You sure, Tu?"

"Yeah! I mean, why would I be upset," his cousin proclaims, nodding towards his cousin, "with you? You saved me! And I'm ok! No harm done."

"Uh, how much painkiller have you had?" Tu pauses his rambling, and strokes his chin in thought.

"Hmm. Maybe too much. Yeah, to be honest with you Bolin, I'm a little mad. I mean, what am I going to do with this?" He gestures to his blistered back, grimacing with disgust at his injury. "I can't work the fruit stand with burns all over me, can I? And what will the girls think when they see my back? This sucks."

"Yeah." Tu sighs.

"Doctors said that they'd need to bring in Water Tribe healers to fix the damage done to my back, and even then I'd still have my scars. I could probably get them tattooed over, but I'd be waiting a year for that to happen." He smirks, barking out a short laugh.

"Spirits, listen to me. I'm alive, ain't I? I should be happy about that. Seriously, Bo, I know you know I'm a tough guy, but if your friend hadn't gotten me to the hospital in time..." He leaves the remainder of his sentence unfinished, the conclusion left hanging in the air.

"I'm happy you're alive, Tu," Bolin states, trying to break the awkward silence that has settled between the cousins as he stands up, adjusting his collar. "I kind of have to leave, though. Got work to do, catching terrorists and all that," he admits, ruffling his hair in an attempt to shake off some stress. "Sorry about having to leave so soon."

"No worries. I mean, it must be hard, having to rush around kicking terrorist butt while I'm stuck here in the hospital." Bolin arches an eyebrow at his seemingly envious tone.

"Rushing around? I have paperwork to sign. Lots of it. The Dai Li weren't happy we beat them to the punch in capturing the Red Lotus cell. We have to get through plenty of red tape before we're allowed to do anything to them." Tu grimaces in sympathetic pain.

"Oosh. I'd prefer being stuck here than having to do that. Here," he says, as he gives him the newspaper he was reading, "you'll need this more than I do. Check out the front page when you get out of here. You'll love it." He winks and gives Bolin a thumbs up, followed by a hiss as he presses his poppy milk dispenser.

"Do me a favour and send dad in on your way out. I'd like to say some stuff to him before talk with everyone else, yeah?"

"Yeah. See you soon, Tu."

"Likewise, Bo! Crack some anarchist skulls for me, you hear?"

As he turns towards the door, Bolin does what Tu tells him to, opening the folded newspaper to the headline, and he's surprised to see that his face is plastered over the issue of the _Southern Telegraph._ He looks like he's straight out of a comic book;  teeth gritted directly at the camera in an expression of fury as he supports a staggering, injured Kuvira, a pained expression on her face as she clutches her side. They're rushing out of smoke, the particulate mist parting from their touch. A glowing snake of magma is frozen in time, the end slowly flash-cooling into obsidian as it wheels around to face the cameraman. _ANARCHIST ASSAULT ON KINGDOM'S CAPITAL FOILED,_ the title screams, emblazoned at the top in bold letters for extra emphasis. Bolin smiles as he reads the piece by an _Arnaq_ _Mirou_ , which stresses the role that Kuvira and the Inner Circle played in bringing the Red Lotus to justice, and concludes by proclaiming that they are the right choice for the Earth Kingdom. _Maybe the paparazzi aren't so bad after all_ , Bolin acknowledges as he strolls into the waiting room _._

"Uncle, Tu wants to see you." Chow hurriedly rises to his feet, concern in his eyes.

"Is he OK?"

"He's fine, Chow. He just wants a chat." He points towards the exit. "I gotta head off, guys. Got a mountain of paperwork to deal with, and that's going to take some time, so if you - oh, another group hug? Yeah, alright, I'm ok with that, just don't- _aag_! Man, Little Chu, you have got to stop hitting me like that..."

* * *

 

_Four days after the Resumption Disaster_

"So...who's next?"

The Inner Circle has convened once again. Qiang's heading the meeting this time around, and he passes around a dossier that contains information on all the Red Lotus members they captured in the aftermath of their brutal struggle at the podium. Bolin selects one of the files at random, poring over the information contained on the paper.

"What about her? Earthbender, 5'4,  22 years old. Think she'll tell us the info we need?"

"We already interrogated her," states Qiang, hobbling to a chair on a cedarwood cane. Everytime he opens his mouth, his impressive whiskers bristle like a white-haired caterpillar, and Bolin still finds himself forcing down a chuckle at the sight. The last time he laughed out loud during a Circle convention didn't end well.

"It's no use," the wizened old man continues, moustache vibrating. "We've tried everything up to physical altercations, and they don't break. Whoever taught them to resist verbal interrogation was a master at it. We might as well give them over to the Dai Li; they're trained to deal in information extraction."

"Unacceptable," Kuvira thunders as she slams a gloved fist on the table. "I've been dealing with wheedling Dai Li representatives for the past three days, pestering me non-stop to release these criminals into their care. We are not giving them these prisoners. I don't trust they'll handle the situation with any sort of tact."

"I wasn't suggesting that, ma'am. But we can't get them to talk. Having them in our custody is useless. They won't blag."

Kuvira pinches the bridge of her nose, elbow resting on the table as she contemplates something. It must be quite something, if she reacts like that.

"Qiang, it's painfully clear that verbal methods aren't working. We're going to have to step up our operations."

The colour drains out of the old general's face. An uneasy silence settles over the Inner Circle as they contemplate the true meaning of Kuvira's order.

"What? You mean...torture?" Bolin stands up. He's shocked that her friend would suggest such a drastic measure. "Kuvira, that's illegal under the first article of the Yu Dao Charter!"

"I know that, Bolin!" There's an tone to her voice that Bolin has never heard before; a razor-sharp edge that fully proclaims to the other members of the Inner Circle that what she says is law. She has absolute authority here.

"Thirty people are dead because these anarchists planted a bomb as a distraction so they could try and kill me! Thirty innocent lives, gone! The psychopaths we have locked up in our cells have shown no remorse whatsoever for their actions. If we need to apply a little pressure to get them to talk, so be it. The ends justify the means."

A horrified quiet is her only response. No one has seen Kuvira this angry since the schism at Zaofu.

"Kuvira, we can't stoop to their level." Bolin is worried. Seriously worried. He never signed up for this. "If we start hurting them, the terrorists win. They want us to lash out in panic; Amon had the exact same tactics as these guys, and all the UR did in response was make themselves look like bending supremacists."

"Bolin, they won't talk-"

"Let me talk to them, then. I mean, who's this guy? Nonbender, 5"5, 17?  He's my age! You want to be remembered as the woman who beat up a kid in an act of revenge? At least let me try to get him to spill. I won't let you down."

The silence that follows is cloying and awkward, and Bolin is worried that Kuvira will shut him down, or remain quiet. But something in her eyes soften, and she relents.

"Alright. You need to find out if they're planning anything else, and how many other conspirators there are. Find out who headed the operation, too. I've got a feeling that the Dai Li aren't as innocent as they claim to be."

She locks eyes with him, twin pits burning deep into his spirit, scouring him for any sign of weakness.

"Don't make me regret this, Bolin."

* * *

 

"So that's him?"

Staff-Sergeant Chong nods, handing him a couple of sugared tanggao.

"We've only asked him the basic questions. How old are you, what's your name, and so on. You need to find out who gave the order, how they managed to get past both us and the Dai Li, and what he's doing tied up with known anarchists. You've got ten minutes to do whatever you want. Talk to him, yell at him, scare him, as long as you don't actually harm him.  Once it's up, Kuvira's pulling you out and I'll replace you." Bolin doesn't need to imagine what Chong has been ordered to do, and the sergeant's cold disinterest at that issue unnerves him. He raises one of the sweet doughnuts to his lips, but falters when Chong shakes his head.

"Don't eat the tanggao. That's for leverage. If I were you, I'd give it to him after scaring him a little. You used to be an actor, right?"

Bolin nods. He still receives an unspeakable amount of money from the Nuktuk royalties and trademark.

"Then I'd use those skills to your advantage. Scare him, maybe even with a threat of violence, and he should sing like a bird. Don't use actual violence; Kuvira wants to get him to talk without actually hurting him first. Are we clear?"

"Yep!"

"Good luck getting that information." Chong salutes him and turns away, walking to take a seat behind a two-way mirror. Qiang and Kuvira are also standing there, watching the insurgent with steely eyes.

He takes a deep breath, and pushes the door open.

The terrorist is fastened to a chair, his wrists bound around the back of the seat by hemp rope. He looks dishevelled; his clothes are a mess and there's patchy black stubble growing on his cheeks. He has Kingdom-green eyes, glittering like emeralds behind his black fringe.

It's like looking into his reflection. Bolin gulps as he settles into the chair opposite the terrorist, planting the plate of tanggao between them, noting the way that the captive takes a sudden interest in the fried dough. He must be starving, and his expression reminds Bolin of the starving, mangy strays that roamed the back alleys of Republic City in packs hunting for scraps.

"Sorry, but you won't get these until you answer a few questions." The words are bitter in his mouth, and the memory of a police station flashes in his mind; a gaunt metalbender holding a pen and notepad as he tries to extract answers from a young Bolin. The terrorist locks eyes with him.

"I don't talk with fascists." He spits on the table for emphasis.

"We're not fascists," Bolin stammers. "That's stupid! We're not looking to make a dictatorship. We're rebuilding the Kingdom."

"And forcing everyone to bow to the whims of one woman. Admit your crimes!"

Talking isn't working. What did Chong say? _Scare him a little?_ Bolin can do that.

"Hey, hey, ok, if you wanna play that game, I'm ok with that. Let's see... Alright, out of the two of us, who's the one that's tied up?"

The insurgent grumbles under his breath, attempting to adjust his restraints.

"I thought so. Next question; out of the two of us, who belongs to a terrorist organisation?"

"Eeexactly. And final question."

Bolin shoots up as he slams his palms down on the table, leaning into the terrorist with a furious expression carved into his face. The ceramic plate shatters like glass, the tanggao scattering over the floor.

"How did you manage to plant a bomb in the audience?!"

The sudden change of attitude spooks the teen, and he nearly falls off his seat to try and get away from a now irate Bolin. He makes a sound like something's jammed in his throat.

"Who ordered the hit?! Who authorised you to bomb innocents? Tell me!" His silence serves to irritate Bolin further, and he snatches his collar.

"Thirty innocent people died because of your bomb! A good friend of mine's in the hospital right now because of you! Who ordered the hit?!"

"You d-don't scare me," the  anarchist stammers, clearly about to break.

"I don't scare you, huh?!" Bolin tips the chair onto its side (taking care to avoid bashing the man's head on the stone floor) and stands over the captive's immobile form. Though he doesn't show it, Bolin's quite impressed that he still has the skills. _Maybe I should consider going back into the acting business._

"Do I scare you now?! If you think I'm scary, wait until I call my friends in. They know how to send threads of metal into your blood! Do you want that? Tell me who ordered the hit!" The terrorist blanches.

"Oh spirits, alright! Please don't put snakes in my blood. I'll talk!"

It's as if a switch flicks in Bolin. He helps the terrorist back onto his chair as he picks up a tanggao, brushing it down on his uniform before he hands it to the now-compliant hostage.

"That's good news, really great. So, you mind telling me who ordered the hit? Zaheer? Xai Bau? Some other Blossom?"

The teen pauses mid-mouthful.

"Never heard of them."

A surge of confusion fills Bolin.

"What do you mean, you've never heard of them?"

* * *

 

"Those Koh-cursed snakes! They've played us for fools!"

Kuvira is pacing like an enraged armadillo lion. The other members of the Inner Circle sit around their conference table in the offices of the Royal Council. They share in Kuvira's rage, and they brood with anger at this revelation. Even Zhu Li, who only displays emotion in extreme emergency is furious. They've been tricked.

"After all this time, the culprits have been right under our noses the whole time. I can't believe the Red Lotus were paid to do this," Gao mutters darkly.

"They weren't paid to do anything," replies Qiang, moustache shivering like a boar-q-pine. "There was no Red Lotus. It was a false flag operation. Red Lotus haven't been in Ba Sing Se since Zaheer and his cronies got taken out by the Avatar. The entire operation was Dai Li, from top to bottom."

The captive had admitted to everything. He and everyone else that had launched the attack on the Inner Circle were Dai Li agents. There were signs from the very beginning that they were up to something; the Secretariat's refusal to allow more Unificator guards, how the Dai Li vanished moments before the attack, why they nearly resorted to violence in order to get the prisoners. Seemingly unrelated events all clicked into place like a masterfully executed pai sho manoeuvre, the revelation of a presumably months-long game played by the Secretariat. Despite their hatred for her, the Inner Circle has to admit that she is a tactical genius.

" The Secretariat's a clever girl," states Bingchen, his expression as bitter as his wife's. "Framing the death of their new leader on the same men who killed their Queen? If she had pulled it off, no one would have been the wiser, and the Dai Li would have cemented their grip on Ba Sing Se forever."

"We have to confront her," asserts Gao, ever the firebrand. He's more Fire Nation than he is Earth Kingdom; only his bending and his eyes hide the fact his father was from the volcanic islands to the west. "We have to take her down. Arrest her in full view of the city. It's time for the people to know that the Dai Li are over."

"Doing that may spark more attacks from Dai Li sympathisers," cautions Baatar. "We don't know how deep the Dai Li have infiltrated the authorities, and Ba Sing Se's populace in general. I don't want to risk the lives of civilians by being too drastic with our actions. Maybe we should send in a small elite team to arrest her quietly?"

"I dunno, Baatar," Varrick chimes in, sipping from a mug of hot chai that his assistant has brewed for him, "she may know we're coming, and simply have us all taken out! Caught like a winged lemur in a cage! And besides, where are we going to get evidence of their involvement? I managed to get away with causing the Southern Rebellions until I got exposed in the act, and that was because no one had any evidence on me!"

"Yes, well, what about the kid Bolin interrogated?" Hu rests her elbows on the table, leaning forwards as she steeples her fingers. "We still have him in custody. Drag him along and make him confess to the Secretariat and the courts, and we'll have the Dai Li held to justice." Qiang turns to face Hu.

"Lieutenant-General, for all we know they've infiltrated the courts as well! We can't trust the authorities at all; if they managed to infiltrate emergency dispatch during the attack, what other government agencies have they taken over?"

"What are you suggesting, sir?"

"Well, I would send some men to apprehend the Secretariat on charges of treason, conspiracy to commit treason, and so on. Search their quarters in the Palace for any sort of list on their affiliated figures. Maybe have some others go search around the cells they were holding airbenders in. If they haven't destroyed them and relocated that is. Once we get that list, we can kick those judges out and replace them with our own. Remove the Dai Li, and secure the courts in our favour. Two birds with one stone." He mimes a throwing motion as Kuvira halts her pacing, moving to sit in a padded chair at the head of table.

"That could work," she admits. "Qiang, that idea is an excellent one. Now, the remaining question is whom to send on this mission. We need Inner Circle members to do the arrest; the Secretariat water-weaselled her way out of being arrested by anyone save those under direct orders from the ruling body, and taking a security team with you will only raise suspicion."

Gao's hand rockets upwards into the air.

"Secretary-General, I am more than willing-"

"Yes, General Gao. You can be on the team. I'll need two more volunteers."

"I can help him," claims Hu, raising her hand. "I've dealt with her before; she's a stubborn hag, but I can bring her down to size."

"Very well, you're in too, Hu. Bolin, as my retainer, you must present my seal and my warrant to the Secretariat. Are you willing to act as the arresting officer?"

Bolin nods, cracking the knuckles of one fist with his other hand.

"Absolutely, Kuvira."


	5. The Revolution Will Be Silent

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "That was far more fun than I'd thought it would be. Let's see that old witch smirk now that her million-yuan vase collection's gone."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've hit a creative wall, really. Hence why I'm uploading old chapters for this fic and not continuing the story as it is for The First Citizen or In Ungue Adamantino Potestatem. I know what I want to do with them, but I can't seem to power through the fluff that blocks the good stuff. Such is the fate of everything I write.
> 
> I also kinda want to work on original stuff. Been co-authoring a setting lately with a friend of mine. Won't talk about it yet; but maybe if I develop it further you should take a look on sufficientvelocity to see if i've posted it there. But i won't hit that stage for at least another 3 months.

"Unificator Internal Affairs! Open this door or we will knock it down!"

Gao's pounding does little to distract Bolin from the ridiculous title that the little general insisted their 3 man team have. Bolin has no interest in policing the shadows of a barely-reforged nation, and calling themselves _Internal Affairs_ when the department doesn't even exist is bound to backfire on them.

Hu is leaning against a wall, slowly bending a chunk of rock in her hand, ripping it apart and reforging the rock over and over again, fingers flexing as if she's typing commands on the streams of spiritual energy that possess the earth. No matter how rough she tears the stone, it flows back together like water. Dust calls out to dust.

Bolin is reading over the warrant; it's been hand-written in the slightly scratchy calligraphy of Kuvira herself, the waxy royal seal that's been pressed onto the bottom of the paper divided with her own personal sigil, the grey octagon of Zaofu with the circle of the Kingdom inside it. It calls for the Secretariat's arrest, and any Dai Li to turn themselves in for questioning. Even Bolin scoffs at that order; as if the Dai Li will bow down to anyone but themselves.

There's no answer at the door, and Gao curses his luck. Evidently, the Secretariat caught wind of their operation and decided to high-tail it out of her office before she could be imprisoned for _conspiracy to commit treason, treason, murder, manslaughter-_

"Lights are on, but there's nobody home. Hu?"

She tuts as she walks over to the door, assuming a basic earthbending stance in front of it, legs apart, her fists drawn into her hips, and with a simple raise of her knee, she rips a slab of tile out of the floor and slams it into the door with enough force to knock it off its hinges. The tinkle of broken crockery and glass raises a rare smile to her normally dour lips.

"That was far more fun than I'd thought it would be. Let's see that old witch smirk now that her million-yuan vase collection's gone."

Cautiously, the trio enter the office, stances at the ready as they walk into the Secretariat's official centre of operations, assuming that an ambush waits for them. The sheer nothing that comes to greet them makes Bolin more nervous than should have been possible; finding the entire Dai Li in the office would be more preferable to this.

The office is dark, the guttering remains of a brazier acting as the only light source in the room. The walls are covered with cabinets, locked files hiding the secrets of a monarchy whose size rivals that of the other four nations put together. Gao slashes one open with his chi-possessed hankote, the stiletto like blade easily turning the combination lock on the file into scrap metal, and he pulls the box out of its holder. He selects a dossier marked as belonging to _Zaofu_ , spilling its contents over the lacquered oak table.

"They have files on everyone back at home. Come and have a look. There," he places his finger on a crossed-out photo of a black, spectacled man, "Aiwei. Spirits, they knew he was Red Lotus. Why didn't they warn us? And here, a dossier on Suyin. They knew she was connected to the triads?"

"The Dai Li are excellent at what they do, General," Hu retorts, shifting through a dossier marked _Roku_. "They've been in the espionage game for 600 years now. You can't deceive them. Their spies are everywhere; spirits, they probably have spies in the Air Nomads by now."

"Guys! Check this out!" Bolin's found a folder, pulled out from the _Awaiting_ tray on the Secretariat's table, the file marked _Operation: Xai Bau's Ghost_. He spreads out the contents on the table.

"There. All the evidence we need. Maps, plans, even the supply itinerary of electro-gloves. We present this to the court during her trial, and bang! Instant win. That crone won't know what hit her."

"You think I won't have a contingency for that?"

There's a moment of mass panic, all three Unificators freezing in place before they act, lifting chunks of crockery from the floor as Gao uncoils his whips, the pointed edges hovering like serpents in his grip.

"You! You're under arrest for treason!"

The Secretariat utters a tinkle of laughter, hands folded politely behind her back as Dai Li agents file into the room, rock gloves shifting over their hands as they slowly surround the Inner Circle delegation.

"You dare accuse me of treason? I, who served Queen Hou-Ting so leally before her untimely demise? Who deigns to serve your leader as if she deserved the throne? That's perjury, slander. Do you know what we do to slanderers in Ba Sing Se?"

The rock glove slams into Hu's cheek without warning, impacting the side of her head with enough force to instantly drive her unconsious. Gao whirls his whip to face the attackers on his right, leaving him open to a Dai Li agent who tackles him, slamming him to the ground as he pushes his fists into the general's chi meridians, finishing his brutal combo with a chop to his jugular.

Bolin manages to punch a black-robed mook in the face, sending the woman reeling back, but a rock slams into his back, staggering him forwards and opening him up to another chunk of pottery, send hurtling into his ribcage. He goes down with a groan, and remains conscious long enough to see the Secretariat loom over him.

"We eliminate them." Her foot, a polished heel with an underside of platinum, rises above his head, and the last thing he sees is the metal coming down, down.

\-----

"Wake up."

Bolin gasps, eyes opening wide as he tries to stand up. He can't move his hands. He can't see, either; a thick cloth bag covers his head, muffling his hearing and any idea of the world outside his isolation unit. Dimly, he's aware of someone else in the room; the shadows darken in the shape of a long-robed man, head branching out like a cone.

The shape grows in size, and suddenly the bag is yanked off his head, leaving him blinking in the darkness as the sinister figure of a Dai Li agent stands over him. He looms over the captive Unificator, completely expressionless.

"You stand accused of conspiracy to commit treason against the Dai Li. Such a crime is worthy of capital punishment. How do you plead?"

"Not guilty! Gah! I swear when I get out of these restr-"

"Wrong." The Dai Li's ridiculous sleeves jostle about, and somehow a matchbox materialises out of the black folds of cloth. The agent strikes a match, the shimmering yellow-orange glow highlighting his rough features.

"You are guilty of conspiracy to commit treason."

"Didn't you hear-"

"Yes. You are guilty of conspiracy to commit treason." Bolin can do nothing but curse as the Dai Li agent turns his back, lighting an oil lamp at the far end of the room. The agent bows his head as he steps under something, and Bolin sees that the oil lamp is on rails, attached to a circular piece of metal that runs a ring all the way around his chair. The agent fiddles with the device for a moment, adjusting the lantern's position on the rail track, before he flicks a switch. Slowly at first, the oil lamp begins to traverse the rail, disappearing behind Bolin before coming back around, nearly blinding him with the sudden appearance of the light. The Dai Li agent stands behind the ring, his face devoid of expression.

"You are guilty of conspiracy to commit treason. You plead guilty, and go willingly to your fate."

"I do not go willingly to this fate! Get me out of this chair!" Bolin pulls at his restraints again, but his eyes are drawn to the hypnotic patterns that the light makes as it travels in the darkness, a burning after-image seared on his retinas.

"You are guilty of conspiracy to commit treason. You plead guilty, and go willingly to your fate."

"What is this? Are you trying to hypnotize me? Well, buddy, I tell you what, it's not going to work." The light is speeding up, and  Bolin's rooted to his chair. The light is beautiful. It calls to him, naked and pure. Unbidden, his mind uncoils like a snake in the sun, content and slow. The words pour into his ears, but he doesn't pay them any attention. All he cares for is the light.

"You are guilty of conspiracy to commit treason. You plead guilty, and go willin- _aag_!"

The light bursts like a star snuffed out in the stellar wind by a rock the size of his head. The Dai Li agent crumples as if he's made of paper, head slamming onto the railing as the stone finishes its trajectory, landing at his feet. His senses come rushing back to him as his rescuer hurries to his side, unbuckling his wrist clamps.

"Thanks, Hu," he mutters under his breath.

"Save it, kid," she retorts as she prises open his other hand. "We're not out of the fire yet. We've still got to find Gao and bail out of here." She rips his leg restraints apart and Bolin rises from his chair, rubbing his wrists and listening to his chi sing in exultation as his feet connect to honest, truthful stone. The energy rushes into the ground and back into his body again, tethered once more to the planet.

They exit the cell quietly, wending-tu stances at the ready, primed to launch a barrage of blocks at any cone-headed agent who'd dare poke his head around a corner. They file their way through rows and rows of holding blocks; Column 11-4, Column 15-3, Column 20-6, they blur past as Bolin marvels at the sheer scope of the facility. Just what have the Dai Li been doing here for the past 600 years?

"So where is he?"

"Column 28-1. Overheard the guards talking about him when I was in my cell. For all their 'intelligence' training, they sure blag a lot."

They continue in silence, ducking behind pillars to avoid guards where possible and slipping a chokehold around those they cannot avoid; a trail of sleeping spies litters their path as they progress deeper into the complex. They pass vast cells holding small groups of people, descending into silence when they see the duo sneak around the complex, remaining as silent as elephant rats; they know that to raise any sort of fuss would doom every single one of them to hours of brutal punishment. Bolin's eyes widen in shock when he sees the gang of children that he met on the streets of the Lower Ring, their leader staring out through the bars of their cell forlornly. It seems like it's been weeks since he gave them that speech, and seeing them locked away like this sets off a wave of anger. His chi burbles to him, demanding to be set free so it can burn all these bars to ash. Yet he pushes the urge down; Gao needs to come first before they can focus on any other prisoners. He waves Hu forwards and they round a corner, Column 28 written on a sign hanging over them, attached by stone struts to the ceiling.

 "Here," she raises a palm to indicate a stop outside Cell 1, and she rushes over to the other side of the doorway. Flashes of light burst out of the open bars at the top of the metal door, and there's a muffled, low and constant muttering coming from the room.

"Monkeyfeathers, they've started the PHS therapy. Hopefully we're not too late." She slowly raises her left leg, ready to slam it down. Bolin slowly severs a circular chunk out of the floor, heating it up to the point where it melts, and he spreads it thin over the doorway, the lava hovering over the metal.

"Ready?" Hu nods.

A simple push of his palm, and the lava slams into the door, the body squealing in protest as the molten rock eats into the iron. Bolin brings the edge of his hands together, palms facing the door as he bends his fingers, tearing his hands away from each other as if he's opening a door. The weakened metal gives no resistance and is ripped in two, the lava rapidly cooling as it gushes out of the hole he's made in the entrance to the oubliette. The Dai Li agent on the other side is stunned for just a moment too late, and before he knows it Hu sends a chunk of rock hurtling towards his shocked expression.

Gao's restrained in a chair, his eyes tracking the light on the machine that whirls around his subdued form, completely oblivious to everything else in the room.  Even as Bolin unbuckles him and starts to drag him out of the room he still stares unblinkingly at the bulb, and it's only when Hu smashes the glass with a piece of rock that he's brought back to reality. Gao gasps as he notices his surroundings for the first time since the process began, clutching his head as a migraine bursts into existence behind his eyeballs.

"Gao, you alright?" Bolin kneels next to him and offers him a hand, but Gao waves the gesture away.

"I'm fine, I'll be fine," he grunts, pushing himself up onto one knee. "I just need a moment."

"Spirits, Gao, what were they doing to you?" Bolin offers him a hand and Gao accepts it, hoisting himself up as he rubs his temples, eyelids squeezed shut as he grimaces with pain.

"PHS," states Hu, aiming her stance at the door. "Stands for post-hypnotic suggestion. Dunno how it works but it puts triggers in your head that can change your behaviour if a word's spoken. Dai Li's been using it for centuries to control dissidents here; I only hope that we weren't too late for Gao."

"I am right here, you know," Gao retorts back as he rubs the bridge of his nose. "And I'm fine. I don't feel or think anything strange. Look, let's not talk about that and focus on what we need to do."

"Yeah...actually, what are we going to do now?" Bolin scratches the top of his head in confusion. "Rescuing you was as far as I was thinking."

"The mission stays the same, Bolin," Hu replies. "We arrest the Grand Secretariat for treason."

"Uh, Hu, how are we going to do that in her evil lair filled with evil cronies? We'd get taken out by Dai Li before we even knew where she was! What are three people going to do against an army of spies?"

Hu looks back over her shoulder and smirks. Bolin's never seen that expression on her before, and judging by the distraught look on Gao's face, that can only mean something big's going to happen.

"When did I say that it would only be just us three?"

\-----

"Man, this robes' really itchy. How do they stand wearing this?"

"Ssh! They'll notice you if you keep complaining."

Bolin and Gao shuffle alongside each other, heads hidden by conical hats and their bodies covered in black and green robes, a handheld transceiver strapped onto Gao's back with its handset stowed onto the side of the radio. They've liberated the uniforms and equipment from a pair of guards that made the horrible mistake of colliding with them, and now they're walking to an imposing panopticon standing tall in the middle of a ring of jail cells, the cabin at the top of the structure watching over everything that goes on in those oubliettes. This is obviously the main holding area for prisoners; Bolin thinks that the noise will kill him before anything else.

This part of the facility is different; for one thing, it appears to have been built in the underground ruins of an old city, the ambient crystals providing a light source for both guard and gaoled. The courtyard around the tower has mosaics patterned onto the floor; this area was once a palace of some sort. Bolin finds it ironic; the household of the mighty playing host to the lowest rungs of society.

The entrance to the guard tower is ahead of them; a simple metal door hidden behind a chicken-wire cage that crackles with the ice blue spark of electricity, the only path to the door across an exposed catwalk suspended above the ground by metal wires. There's a small viewing slot built into the wall next to the door that slides open as they approach the panopticon's entrance, green eyes glowering at the pair from within.

"That's odd," the guard at the entrance claims as the duo wait outside the electric fence, "my shift won't end for another five hours. You better have a good reason for disturbing my crossword."

"Radio's banged up, we need to replace it," Bolin responds, pointing at the device on his comrade's back. The eyes narrow.

"Looks fine to me. You tried turning it on and off again?"

"Three times! We need to get a new one, so let us in."

The hatch slams shut in reply. Bolin tenses up, waiting for the inevitable claxon to ring out, but he's surprised when the door opens up, a very cross Dai Li agent walking out with a skeleton key towards the now deactivated fence. The bearded man grumbles as he sorts through the mess of keys on the ring.

"Just my luck to have to sort out damages paperwork mid-shift. I'd nearly finished my newspaper as well."

 "Don't stress about it, we'll be in and out so fast you won't even notice us."

"Hmph. If you say so." The Dai Li agent suddenly stop rifling through the keys, holding out a brass disc tumbler key that he shoves into the lock, unlocking the fence with a twist of his hand. He beckons them forward.

"Hurry up, before the fence switches on again," he mutters as he turns around and heads inside. Gao glances towards Bolin who merely shrugs in response.

"You heard him." The duo stroll into the watchtower. The agent's sat down by a metal desk next to the viewing slot, grumbling as he sorts through drawers containing folders of assorted documents and paperwork. A newspaper lies on top of his desk with a  pen resting on top of the unfinished crossword while a radio warbles out a lively boogie-woogie tune. There's a huge bank of cell release buttons, each one labelled with a cell number, and Gao nods his head in their direction; we have what we came for.

"Radios are over there," the agent says as he jerks his thumb towards a neat rack of transceivers mounted on a wall while he rifles through his files without looking up. "Get one and go."

"Thanks," Bolin says as he tiptoes towards the door release bank. He's about to release a number of cells when the radio on Gao's back crackles into life.

"Naga 2, come in. What's your status with the prisoners?" Gao winces as the agent whirls around to face them, confusion evident on his expression.

"That radio's not busted, it's working fine! What-"

He's cut short as Gao crosses his arms together, sending the desk slamming into his ribcage. He barely has time to wheeze in pain before the metalbender punches his arm upwards, rocketing both the metal chair and the agent who's sitting on it into the ceiling. The Dai Li falls to the floor without grace, unconscious.

"Naga 2, status report!" Gao picks up the handset attached to the backpack radio as Bolin drags away the sleeping spy.

"Naga 1, this is Scale 1. We're fine. You almost set the alarms off though."

"How."

"Next time, wait a little longer before you decide to check in."

"I don't need to hear this. What's the status of the prisoners?" Gao rolls his eyes as Bolin takes up a position by the control bank. He's taken the crossword from the desk and he analyses it with an almost surgical intensity.

"They're under our control. We're waiting for the go-ahead. Are you in position at the PHS block?"

"Yes. I'm giving the go-ahead. Wait ninety seconds then hit every single button in that room."

"Got it. Naga 2 out." He reattaches the headset and nods towards Bolin.

"Hold on a second, I've almost got this. What's an three-character word for 'ordinary'?"

The general buries his face in the palms of his hands.

\----

Ten minutes later, everything is on fire.

"How in all the spirits' name did they get access to the generator room?!"

Bolin and Gao are sprinting back towards the PHS block, having ditched their cumbersome disguises for their armourless uniforms despite Gao's insistence on keeping the radio. Overjoyed prisoners are everywhere, celebrating their early parole with a full-blown riot, and formations of Dai Li push back the raucous inmates with walls of earth.

"Beats me! Just shut up and run! Hu's up ahead!"

A Dai Li agent flies out of an open cell door with enough force to hit the wall opposite it as a man with muscles like a badgermole steps out, his eyes narrowing when he spots the two Unificators. He draws in his elbows to his sides, intent on tearing out a chunk of concrete, yet is forcibly halted when Gao shoots his arms out in front of him and turns them in a clockwise motion as he leans to the right. The bars of the cage respond to his actions, twisting like fabric as they wrap themselves around the limbs of the enraged convict like snakes before a gesture sends them crashing to the ground with an unstoppable force. The two men circle around his yelling form, Bolin shrugging an apology to the prisoner.

Gao pulls off the handset as he smacks a button on the transceiver's side, temporarily slowing down to avoid two rolling prisoners in the middle of a fist-fight. The speaker crackles into life.

"Naga 2, where are you? I have the civilian prisoners, and we're at the rendezvous point."

"Naga 1, we're approaching it soon. Be there in about two minutes."

"Roger. Naga 1 out."

 The duo dodge and weave their way through the crowds of angry criminals, occasionally bending at people in their way as they rush towards an egress in the facility that Hu spotted as she was sneaking out of her cell. While it was heavily guarded, Bolin hopes that the riot would have hopefully pulled away the guards, leaving them free to bug out and retreat back to Kuvira.

It takes another five minutes of them weaving their way around battling inmates before they arrive at the now-deserted entrance. There's a sizeable crowd of previously imprisoned civilians, those who can fight assuming a wide variety of earthbending stances (and in once case a firebending stance, the bender bouncing from toe to toe with his fists raised as he channels his chi through his body). Hu's standing next to the leader of the child-gangsters he met before the Resumption, telling her to go away and shut up, I know how to handle a radio kid-

"Hu!"

She looks up, her scowl momentarily faltering as she notices the other Unificators.

"About time you got here," she mutters as she whacks the transceiver. I've been trying to co-ordinate with Bingchen's men up top but the radio's shorted out."

"I keep telling you, lady," the girl almost shouts with exasperation, "it's switched off! You gotta turn it on again!"

"And I keep telling you, if you don't shut up I'm going to make you eat your scarf!"

"Woah, ok, Hu, you might wanna calm down there a little bit," Bolin interjects as he takes the radio from the older woman. "Let me have a look." He hums as he inspects the outer workings of the machine, thoughtfully twiddling a frequency dial as he thinks over what could be wrong with it.

"Aha," he finally exclaims as he flicks a button on the machine's side, "here we go! It was switched off." He doesn't notice the burning stare that Hu gives the child, nor the child's raspberry she receives as punishment. Gao discards his radio and takes the much larger transceiver from Bolin, tweaking the frequency dials as he extends the backpack's antenna.

"Horse Actual, come in. This is Naga 2."

"Horse Actual responding," replies Bingchen's gruff voice, masked by the fizz and crackle of the communication device. "We're at the Secretariat's office, and Dragon Actual's got their team at the Royal Temple. Where are you?"

"At an exit in the facility. No clue where; all I know is that it's in some underground ruin."

"Old Ba Sing Se? See if you can't get above ground. We'll be able to reinforce you up there."

"Roger. Naga 2 out." Gao reattaches the handset to the transceiver and looks up at his companions.

"We need to move. Chances are Dai LI's coming here and we need to get above ground. Can you open that door?"

The door in question is a massive circular vault door, made of platinum; it is unbendable, impervious to the touch of chi. However, there are what appear to be two rotatable pillars of granite jammed in holes on either side of the door.

"Gao, those columns in the doorframe. I think they're keys. Bolin and I will try and unlock the door. You and anyone else who can fight stay on guard, the Dai Li could come at any moment."

"Yes, ma'am." Gao salutes as he hurries back to the thin line of benders. Hu turns to Bolin.

"Well, let's get started, shall we?"

Bolin gives a salute with a smirk of confidence.

"Yes, ma'am!"

Bolin approaches the pole embedded next to the right side of the door and assumes a niunan-pingwen stance, fists drawn in and his breathing slowed in order to stir his chi into wakefulness. An adjustment of the feet later and he can feel the granite bar; the chi reverberates around the pillar instead of travelling through it like it does to the surrounding rock. _Pillar has a metal core. Great._

"Hu! It's metal inside!" The older woman kicks the wall with anger, spitting out a curse before she resumes her bending stance.

"We'll have to try and rotate the granite part then! Hopefully the metal part will turn alongside it!" He nods at that, and he breathes deeply, letting his chi ping into the granite key. It is receptive to his sense, the volcanic rock singing to him and signalling to some other place deep within himself. At a nod from Hu, he reaches out a hand as if to grab the bar before he slowly pulls his arm in.

Even for a man who's halted a tide of lava in its tracks, the metal-earth fusion is stunningly difficult to bend; the metal is cold and unresponsive, and it takes every bit of effort Bolin can muster to turn the steel core alongside the granite. Not for the first time, Bolin wishes he was a metalbender. The implication that the Dai Li has metalbenders doesn't go unnoticed, either.

"Where's....Gao when you...need him?!"

"Shut up and...turn your key!"

Bolin grits his teeth and digs into the ground with enough force that it begins to soften like dough around his feet, cursing with the exertion as the key slowly unlocks the great platinum gate. There's so much chi flowing through him that he worries he'll burn himself out. It only gets worse once he hears the sounds of men shouting and the clatter of rock upon rock, signalling the arrival of the Dai Li.

The young man groans with effort, veins popping on his neck as he tries to open the door, but it's no use. The metal is too ingrained with the stone to be easily bendable. But as Bolin is about to admit defeat, the key suddenly starts rotating of its own volition. Bolin halts his bending as the key continues to turn without his help, the double doors of the vault slowly sliding inwards. He glances over at Hu, who is every bit as confused as him. Did they unlock some internal mechanism? Or did someone else open the door?

"Well. May I inquire as to why you two are out of your cells?"

Oh no.

She's standing at the entrance to the facility, an army of black-cloth goons behind her, rock gloves shifting around their outstretched hands as they await her command. She's completely contrasted against the image of the Dai Li behind her; her arms are folded in front of her in a bao quan stance, her sleeves hiding her hands. Her face is a mask of infinite patience, one she's worn countless times.

The duo quickly assume wending-tu stances, Bolin twisting his foot in a counter-clockwise motion to melt the rocks in front of him. He pulls a long twisting cord of magma out of the pool and brings it to his side, the red-hot cement spitting smoke. Hu slams her foot into the ground, bringing up two balls of rock on either side of her. A rotation of her arms later and the rocks have fragmented into razor-sharp shards. The Grand Secretariat does not react whatsoever to this development, and her face remains irritatingly neutral once Gao and what's left of the civilians rush in to bring backup, a few Dai Li hot on their heels. Bolin notes that the child-gangsters are amongst those still standing, and he's unsure whether or not he should feel proud or concerned for them.

"It's over, Secretariat!" Hu shouts in defiance, despite them being outnumbered nearly three-to-one. "We know you were behind the attack at the ceremony! Stand down, or we'll do this the hard way!"

"You are in no position to argue, Lieutenant General. There's only two of you."

"What are you talking about?"

"Our esteemed Queen has invited you to dine in the Chamber of Reflective Calm."

It's as if a switch has gone off in the civilians' heads. As one, they drop their stances, pressing their fists into their palms as they rotate to face the Dai Li, their expressions glazed over while they bow to the Secretariat. Gao's doubled over, groaning in agony as a lightning-hot migraine rips through his head; the result of an unfinished PHS session. Even the children bow, unseeing and unheeding of the world.

"We are honoured to accept her invitation," they chant.

"Excellent. Eliminate the Unificators."

Gao's resisted the effects of the PHS session, but he's in no position to fight. The hypnotised crowd sense this and decide as one to target the duo who are still active. A man reaches out to grab Bolin's jacket but he swats him off, slamming both feet into the ground to propel himself into the air and out of the way of the masses, with Hu following shortly in pursuit.

They land on the other side of the room, Hu sweeping her arms to create a wall of earth to shelter them from the barrage of rocks that's being pelted their way. The indoctrinated are relentless in the assault and Bolin is forced to help Hu reconstruct the wall as it is eroded from the sheer weight of shot directed towards them.

"We can't keep up like this! We have to break out!"

"Where? If we step away from the wall we'll eat the dirt!"

"We stay here and we're dead meat! You have to stun them long enough for us to move to the gate!"

"What? Hold on." Bolin pinches his nose and attempts to exhale until his ears pop. "Mind repeating that again?"

"We need to move to the gate."

"Why?"

"We have to get out! If we manage to break through, we can get reinforcements and come back for Gao and the civilians."

"How are we going to break out if they outnumber us 25 to 2?"

"I don't know! Improvise! Lavabend or something!" They both duck reflexively as an especially large boulder smashes through a large section in their impromptu wall. Through it, Bolin can see the form of the gangster silhouetted in the dust that's been kicked up from the attack, unwillingly enslaved to fight and die for the Dai Li, and something inside him flares up. How could they.

"Alright. We'll go on my mark. Ok. Ready?"

Hu nods as she shifts her weight onto the balls of her feet, ready to spring out and sprint towards the exit. Bolin closes his eyes as his chi starts to flow through his veins, red hot and bubbling with energy. The segment of wall that his hand is resting on starts to glow.

"Go!"

Hu stands up and makes it about twenty metres before she takes a rock to the side of her head. She crumples with a whimper.

"Hu!" Bolin rushes towards her and ducks under a boulder aimed for his face, scrambling on all fours as he tries to recover from the attack, narrowly missing another stone as he does so. He's about to reach her side when he's send stumbling by a melon-sized rock that hits his shoulder. He spins from the impact, opening himself up to another stone that hits him square in the stomach, driving him to the ground as the air is knocked out of his lungs. Black dots pop across Bolin's vision as he sucks in a gasps of air, pushing himself onto his knees. As he tries to rise to his feet, he looks up just in time to see a rock fill his cone of vision.

The resulting impact nearly sends him into unconsciousness, and his vision flashes black at one point. His nose feels like someone's pressed a red-hot poker straight into his face. As he writhes in pain, he notices a robed figure standing over him triumphantly, her wizened lips stretching out in a rictus grin.

"Excellent," the Secretariat states, as cold grips that blaze with chi grasp his arms. "Dai Li, escort these two immediately to the PHS block. I want full mental-"

Her orders are cut short by the shouts of shouted commands and the shriek of metal on stone, and her confusion follows with it when a metal cord wraps itself around Bolin and sends him flying into the air. He braces for an impact that never comes; the cord slows its descent just before he's about to hit the ground, loosening and rolling him onto the floor by the wide open gate. A sinister figure looms over him, her face hidden by a breathing apparatus and thick green goggles, her arms and legs covered in thin strips of metal.

"Am I glad to see you," he pants.

"Sir," the metalbender says, voice muffled by her gasmask, "we've got you. Sit back and let us handle the situation." She retreats back to her squad, who are occupied with the job of snagging VIPs out of harm's way. They throw cables around indoctrinated civilians and captured Unificators, mirroring the fishermen that Bolin used to watch at the docks of Republic City.

The Dai Li are used to fighting criminals and rabble, not a professionally trained military force. They throw up barriers of earth and drag metalbenders behind their lines with their rock gloves, and a few of the Unificators drop as rocks smash into their helmets and chests. Metalbenders send long, writhing whips of steel into packs of Dai Li while others bend clouds of fletchettes that wrap themselves around their foes' limbs and eyes. Earthbenders rip apart the entrance room and reshape it as they see fit, destroying areas of cover and forming new areas while they lob a barrage of rocks at the Dai Li. There's even a contingent of nonbenders who rush headlong at pinned fireteams, vaulting over their barriers to jam fingers into exposed chi meridians and temples. It's a brutal sight, yet it's strangely beautiful; different classes of men and women working together to take down a centuries-old regime. Not even the Fire Nation could bring about the end of the Dai Li, and yet a movement barely a year old has stormed their final defences. The fighting has quietened down considerably as the Unificators push deeper into the facility, and the soldiers have begun apprehending the Dai Li, chi blocking and tying their hands together with twine.

"Kid!"

There's Bingchen, a lopsided grin written on his face as he strides over to the injured retainer, a hand resting nonchalantly in his pocket as he surveys his first major victory since joining the Unificators. His wife is standing next to him, supporting her weight on his shoulder, a bandage tightly wrapped around her head. She's hurt, but she'll live.

"Sir," Bolin replies, raising his arm in a salute, "I literally cannot say how happy I am to see you. Well, maybe not literally, but you get what I mean." The older man laughs.

"Don't thank me. Thank Gao! I don't know what happened to him during that whole PHS shebang, but it gave him complete knowledge of all their facilities when they tried to activate it on him! They must have implanted it inside his subconscious or something like that."

"Where is he? Is he..."

"Ok? He's still got that migraine, but if we can figure out the codeword that switches the PHS off he should be fit as a fiddle! Speaking of which..."

Staff Sergeant Chong is escorting the bound and struggling Grand Secretariat, his face hidden behind a green bandanna, boxy glasses framing his green eyes, the brown armband on his left arm marking him as a chi blocker. He stands taller in the uniform, holds himself up higher; he's proud to be a nonbender, and he's even prouder to be fighting to reunify the kingdom. He forces the old woman onto her knees with a kick to the back of her legs as he salutes the trio in front of him.

"Sirs. Ma'am. The Secretariat has been apprehended."

"I can see," whistles Bingchen, impressed with the thoroughness that the usually mild-mannered secretary's displayed in catching the ringleader of their opposition. "You've done a great job here, Chong. Dismissed."

"Sir." He salutes Bingchen before he wheels around and marches back to the rest of the prisoners. The Secretariat looks up, defiant and angry, an expression that only makes Bingchen's smile stretch even wider.

"Now, oh high and mighty Secretariat. We have some things we need to discuss."

\-----

_Three weeks after the assault on the Dai Li compound_

"Sir?"

Bolin stops analysing the sole of his shoe and meets Jiao's gaze. She looks worried, an expression that's out of place with her brand new olive and grey uniform done in the style of the Unificators' fatigues. Bolin recognises pre-show nerves when he sees them, and he indicates her to sit down next to him on the bench behind the stage curtains.

"What's up, Commander?"

"...Nothing, it's nothing," she says as she rises and tries to leave. Bolin catches her on the arm before she can scurry away.

"Are you nervous?" he asks. She nods in reply as she moves back to sit down next to him.

"What are you afraid of?"

"What if she doesn't like us? What if she laughs at us when we march in and try to salute and everything and, oh spirits what if she gets mad at us-"

She stops when Bolin lays a hand on the ex-gangster's shoulder, smiling reassuredly at her.

"Hey, don't worry about her. She's nice, really! I mean, when I first met her I was afraid she'd be all cold and unfeeling but she's nothing like that. Completely opposite from that."

"You know that she once was just like you? Her parents left her on the streets when she was eight. She knows exactly what you and your friends went through." Jiao's eyes widen at that revelation.

"But I thought she was from Zaofu."

"She is. But before that she was an orphan on the streets. I probably shouldn't be telling you all that, she likes to keep that secret. Oh boy, she'll kill me when she finds out. Nonono don't worry, she won't kill you," he adds when the blood drains out of her face. "She's cool, really! She's really looking forward to see you all there. She'll love seeing you."

"Really?"

"Absolutely. You can bet my RCAA on it." She smiles at that comment, looking down at her black jackboots bashfully.

"Thanks for talking with me, sir."

"Bolin. It's Bolin. You technically outrank me after all, Commander. Now go on, meet with the others before you present yourself!" She bows to him in a gesture of thanks before she runs off. Bolin smiles to himself; that kid's gonna make it.

An hour later, Bolin is peeking through a gap in the stage curtains, looking out at a sea of attentive young faces dressed in green and grey, olive-green scarves wrapped around their necks. They marched on with the precision of any Unificator, and their stand to attention when Kuvira marched behind the podium was perfect. Jiao's standing at the forefront of the group, hands behind her back as she listens to Kuvira narrate to them.

"...Many monarchs have come and gone," Kuvira thunders in a commanding tone, voice dripping with authority. "And all of them have done nothing to secure the favour of what is arguably the most important group in the Kingdom, if not the world; the youth."

"You all have such potential. Each of you has the power to change the course of this nation, for better or worse. Your experiences as a child will define you, shape you into the man or woman you will become." Her voice wavers for a moment as she remember something, momentarily losing focus before she recovers. Now is not the time to remember the past.

"The Dai Li are gone, and with them you are free of their grip. The Stone Fists was merely a front organisation for their criminal activities, and they used you as a carpenter would use his tools."

"None of that will happen here. You are not tools, to be discarded when you defy an order, to be purged when you disobey your masters. You are instruments, beautiful and glorious! You are the future, the agent of change, an example to set before your peers! It is my hope that in three years time there will be no child in this country who goes hungry or alone. I will ensure that no child will be forced to fight for triads in order to live."

"But I cannot do this alone. Children have always been wary of authority figures, and who can fault them? Wherever I go, the youth have been discarded and disregarded as unimportant, a nuisance. This needs to change, and I need your assistance."

"You have all been lost before. You have shared in the experiences of those who I want to see rescued, who need help before they're lost forever. You must save them. You must go to places where no adult would think to look and reach out to the needy and poor. Bring them to us, give them a uniform, and make them your brother or sister."

"It will be hard, I won't deny it. It may even be dangerous in some cases. But I will not force you to go and face these hardships if you are unwilling to do so. Any who do not wish to follow me are free to go. Walk out of this door, and you will not be judged or threatened."

No one leaves. They're enraptured by Kuvira; her speech has set their spirits alight, and they're all willing to help her in her crusade against child poverty. They've grown restless; they're at that tipping point, the knife edge where a crowds balances between silent admiration and roaring adulation, and all Kuvira needs to do is give a gentle push.

"Excellent. You are the vanguard of this operation to save the country's young. You will be the true heroes of the Unification. You are the Young Leaders of Tomorrow! And you will give the children of this nation a bright future!"

It's as if a dam bursts; the children who were silent are now cheering Kuvira's name, chanting it as if she is a god. They're grinning eagerly, straining at the leash to be set off on their holy crusade to redeem the poor and make them a Young Leader. It's Jiao, the Young Commander of Tomorrow, who leads her ex-gang in the salute (a repetition of the ancient Chin salute), and they raise their left arms straight into the air as one, their fingers pointing to the sky, screaming the Secretary-General's name over and over; Kuvira! _Kuvira!_ **Kuvira!**

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Old notes here:
> 
> RCAA stands for Republic City Academy Award. It's the equivalent of an Oscar.
> 
> PHS, or Post Hypnotic Suggestion, is the name for that procedure the Dai Li do involving the lantern revolving around the chair, brainwashing a different personality into you that's activated with a phrase.
> 
> And so, the slippery slope towards the Great Uniter begins with the Young Leaders of Tomorrow. You know what they say about the road to Vaatu.
> 
> This marks the end of the Ba Sing Se segment of the story. Next up is a change of location, and hopefully something not nearly as long as Ba Sing Se.
> 
> Reviews are my lifeblood :) Don't hesitate to criticize if you find anything not up to snuff!


	6. The East is Tough, Pengyou

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Scourge of the World!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, this is a late upload. I wrote this nearly a year ago.

_Eight months after the capture of Ba Sing Se_

 

An army is on the march.

They travel on Satocycles and trucks, in converted flatbed Satomobiles and in vans; there’s even one or two tanks in the horde of vehicles, overlapping sheets of metal hiding the earthbenders within as the heavy assault vehicles glide over the rocks like snakes. The air is filled with the sound of engines and whooping men.

  
Ahead, a farming hamlet twinkles in the twilight, candlelights fluttering into activity as farmers return home from a day’s work in the fields to count their meagre earning and eat plain meals of rice and boiled cabbage, to discuss with their wives about moving to the cities. Others put their children on their lap and bounce them around as they listen to the evening broadcast about the progress the Unificator forces have made in reforming the kingdom. The villagers are so intent on listening to how Omashu has accepted the terms set out by the Secretary-General that they don't notice the roar of the engines until tattooed men with mohawks and machetes kick the doors down and drag the screaming inhabitants outside.

The lights from the lamps are dwarfed by the red glow of the wood huts as they burn in the light of the setting sun. The bandits shove their newly-captured slaves into the back of the trucks, and strap the bits of the ones who resisted to the front of their cars.

A man stands in front of a cheering crowd of motor-barbarians, his ponytail and beard dyed a shocking lime colour, his face painted in the manner of a cleanly-picked skull. He wears a necklace of teeth and nails, and he raises a bloodied club into the air as the bandits chant his name.

Gombo! Gombo! Gombo! The Scourge of the World!

* * *

 

It's ominously quiet in the already sleepy town of Huaxi when the _HMT Liberator_ pulls up into the train station, flanks marked with the octagon seal of the Unificators. The doors of the great train open with a clank, Unification soldiers marching out into the sweltering heat, cursing their luck and COs as they remove their gasmasks and cloth bandannas to better deal with the temperature. Some higher-ranking officers split up from their platoons to rendezvous next to the station manager who tries to look as important as possible in his threadbare, dust-worn robes as he directs them to a nearby field large enough to accommodate six company's worth of soldiers.

From the centre of the train, the majority of the Inner Circle stride out. Bolin looks at their surroundings with enthusiasm as he tries not to wipe his forehead with his sleeve. Qiang watches over his men with pride as they behave themselves with dignity and courteousness, leaning heavily on his cane as he loosens his collar. Chong strolls absentmindedly behind an animated Varrick as he scribbles down notes and itineraries, the genius deliberating at Zhu Li about _the vast untapped fields of salt-mud they have here and how much of a fortune Varricorp could make if they sell it to beauty salons at five times what it's worth, it works miracles on dry skin, I tell you_ -

And there's the Secretary-General, looking as smart as ever in her military uniform, the heat doing little to faze her despite the fact she's wearing a near complete set of domaru combat plate. Her boyfriend trails behind her, his black hair sticking to his scalp with sweat as he surreptitiously rolls up his sleeves, placing a pair of engraved steel cufflinks into his pockets.                                             

"Of all the places we've been, this has to be the hottest," he mumbles as he pulls out a handkerchief which he dabs his face with. "Not even the Shi Wong was as hot as this. Is there a reason why we couldn't communicate to them by telegram?"

"Bingchen and Hu are all tied up securing Omashu, and Gao's purging what's left of the Dai Li," Kuvira replies with a hint of annoyance at her partner's misbehaviour. "Besides, if what they're saying about this 'Gombo' is true, the people of this region need every sign that we're going to stand with them. So that's why we're here personally. We're going to show both our citizens and the 'Steel Horde' that we'll stand by any of our citizens in their time of need."

"That's very nice, I'm sure," Baatar retorts dryly, "but you have a problem with that statement."

"Oh?" Kuvira raises an eyebrow. "Please, enlighten me."

"Where are all the people?"

With the exception of the station manager, who's slunk away to his relatively cool booth, the streets are completely silent. Not even the cats are roaming at this blisteringly hot hour. The only occupant in the street ahead of them is a small patch of tumbleweed, sitting immobile in the middle of the road. Every shop along the high street is closed, wooden shutters closed across glass windows. The only building that's open is a bar at the end of the main road, a mournful ragtime tune warbling out of the propped open saloon doors, polished hotrods and dust-weathered Satocycles parked outside.

"Well, they might be in there," indicates Qiang as he starts hobbling his way towards the saloon. "Gives us an excuse to get out of this heat!"

"Sir, please," Chong calls out from behind the rapidly limping general, "you need to wait at least another hour before you eat anything! Your medication hasn't finished its effects!"

As Chong hurries after him, Varrick turns to Bolin with an apologetic expression.

"Bo, as much as I'd love to join you in that rundown bar, Zhu Li and I need to personally oversee something very important being unloaded from the train. You can't trust train porters to handle anything with care, and I don't think this station even has any!"

"No problem, Varrick," the retainer beams in reply. "See you two back at the camp!"

The entrepreneur raises his hand in a relaxed interpretation of the Chin salute as he backs away, catching up to his assistant while she approaches a pair of Sato-pattern mechatanks, repainted in the green and grey of the Unificators, who have begun to unload large wooden crates, their secrets known only to Varrick.

"Well," Kuvira remarks as she brushes something off her sode, "let's head to the mayor's office. Bolin, can I trust you to make sure the troops settle down peacefully?"

He salutes her in reply, fingers touching the bridge of his head before shooting up into the air, Chin style.

"Yes, ma'am."

* * *

 

The saloon is no less quiet than it was outside when Qiang strolls through the swinging saloon doors, blinking as his good eye adjusts to the darkness of the bar. He moves to sit down by the counter, propping his cane on the stool next to his while he looks around the establishment. It's almost as empty as the street outside; the only residents are a nervous bartender polishing a glass and four rough-looking men sitting around a table, playing a heavily modified version of Pai Sho as they gulp down shots of diluted cactus juice. He clears his throat in an attempt to gain the attention of the barkeep as Chong bursts through the doors.

"Hello? Yes, I'd like, er, one glass of, em, water, if you'd be so, hn, kind," he stutters out as the young secretary takes a seat next to him.

"Sir, with all due respect, what are you doing? Kuvira's gone to the Mayor's office, we need to catch up with her!"

"In a, mm, minute, young lad," he states with a wink and an almost imperceptible nod of his head in the direction of the Pai Sho players, who have begun to take notice of their uniforms. "Travelling for so long gives me a, er, terrible thirst."

Chong's confused at his behaviour for a moment. _Why is he playing up his old age? He's not this bad. Is there someth-_

_Hold on. Oh._

"Well," replies Chong, trying his best not to sound like he's pretending to want to stay here, "I suppose you are right. Barkeeper, can I have a glass of water as well, please? I have been travelling with my old friend here and I am thirsty too."

Qiang raises an eyebrow at his nearly monotonous speech as the bartender plonks down a glass of what could pass for water in front of him. As he sips it, Chong tenses when he catches sight of one of the men stand up and slowly  approach Qiang and him, a hand resting on a wickedly sharp jian.

"Well well well," the ruffian drawls out as he slides into the stool on Qiang's right, "whut's an ol' timer and his grandkid doin' out here in the wild east? Didn't they tell you it ain't safe here no more?"

"What do you, er, mean, my good fellow?"

"Whut do I mean? Ha! Hey fellas, get a load of this guy!" He jerks his thumb at Qiang while the other men guffaw, slapping the table with enough mirth to send the Pai Sho tiles clattering to the floor. Chong tightens his jaw at their disrespect, but Qiang merely smiles as he grabs his cane, balancing its weight in his hand. The bandit wipes a tear from his eye as he begins to calm down.

"I like you! You're a funny guy. So funny that I think I'll let you twos off with a warnin'." He leans in close to Qiang, resting a hand on his shoulder, the other tracing the handle of his blade.

"This town, and the towns next to it, and all the plains in between, it's all Gombo's. Ain't no one goin' to try and ensure otherwise. Royal, Unificator, whatever; y'all are nothin' to him. He's gonna git y'all. And there ain't nothin' you can do about it." The bartender excuses himself, walking into the storeroom and locking the door shut behind him as the bandit's cronies walk up behind up, making obscene noises as they gesture to the jians and mallets hung across their belts. Qiang pays no attention to them as he slowly shifts the position of his hand, rotating the cane so that the handle points outwards, knocking the dusty wooden floor of the bar.

"We're the kings of the kingdom. And you ain't anythin'. You're worthless. So," he states as he snatches the glass of water out of Qiang's hand, "you better go tell your boys to saddle back up into their shiny little train and get outta our land. Or else," he pauses as he dumps the contents of the glass on the ancient man's head, "we're gonna burn everythin' to the ground. Now git."

The bandits are so busy laughing at the miserable figure of the now-soaking general that they don't even register the brass-handled cane whizzing through the air as it collides straight into their ringleader's jaw.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Good afternoon, Mr Cao."

"And a pleasant day to you too, Miss Kuvira," the mayor drawls in an eastern accent as he grasps the Secretary-General's hand with far more confidence for a man of his station, one hand in his trouser pocket, his grey horseshoe moustache quivering like a bush in a breeze. Baatar is standing next to her, having had the decency to smarten himself up before what Kuvira had assured him in very stern tones was a very important meeting. Despite that, he's still sweating in the stifling heat of the office, and every now and then he takes out a now sodden handkerchief to dab his face.

The office itself is furnished sparingly; a couple of gaslamps, some plain wooden chairs with threadbare cushioning, a lounge with the stuffing beginning to fall out of holes in its' side, and a huge, jagged spear mounted above a fireplace. Most notably, there's a painting of what appears to be a half-naked man standing triumphant on top of a dead Divide crawler with a spear clutched in one hand. The mayor notices Kuvira's gaze as it's drawn to the piece of art and he smiles.

"That's paw up there. Great man, real hero. You know he hunted a pack of those canyon beasts with that javelin all by himself? Made himself into a legend 'round these parts. I even got that monster-slayer mounted up on my wall," he mentions as he points to the weapon. "'Course, when I tried to imitate my old man, I ended up losing my hand!" He pulls out his other hand from his pocket, revealing a sort of socket attached to the man's stump that Baatar instantly realised was able to fit a variety of tools. Currently, it was fitted with a basic manipulator device, which was being used to gesture at a faded picture of a younger Mr Cao grinning as if he was just married, posing next to a dead Divide crawler the size of a small truck.

"I still got that beastie though. I saddled up onto it bareback and got it right between the eyes! Pow! Didn't know what had hit it! I tell you whut, my hand was worth it after the feast the family and I ate that night!" He throws his head back and laughs heartily as Kuvira titters with unease, sharing a nervous glance with Baatar.

So he's completely crazy. Okay, they could work with that.

"That's very nice to hear, Mr Cao, and I'd love to hear all your stories, but right now we have more pressing matters at hand."

"Of course, of course! Please," he indicates with his good hand to the chairs sat in front of his desk, "take a seat." He drops himself into the padded armchair that faces the two as they sit in the wooden chairs.

"So. To business."

"Of course. Mr Cao, I take it you're aware of the Unification movement?"

"Absolutely. Nice work at Omashu, by the by. You handled that very well, all things considered."

"Thank you," Kuvira smiles at the praise. "Anyway, we've taken interest in the tri-state area this town's situated in. We've been getting disturbing reports about a man called 'Gombo'. Know anything about this bandit?" Cao's brow furrows.

"Yep. He's no good. Been uniting the surrounding biker-barbarians into his 'Chrome Horde'. Claims that his raids on undefended villages are his 'acts of unification'. Dramatic phooey. Pfeugh!" He spits into a brass bowl halfway across the room with enough force to make it wobble. "Give him one-two if he were here. My boys and gals ain't nearly enough to stop him though. We need some help if we stand any sorta chance against him."

"Well, that's what we're here to do, Mr Cao." Kuvira smiles as Baatar produces a sheet of paper out of his pocket, pushing it towards the mayor. "I'm every bit as interested in solving the bandit problem as you are; Gombo must be stopped. However, we'd need to quarter men and materials here, something that we are forbidden to do by international law. The same restrictions apply to moving aid to Huaxi."

"Hmm. So lemme guess; you want me to sign up to your Unification program?"

"International law requires it, otherwise we can't help." Kuvira gives a diplomatic smile. "I'm sure you understand."

Cao picks up his ceremonial quill, analysing the document with a pair of reading glasses. More than once, his expression sours, and Baatar shares a nervous glance with the Secretary-General.

"Miss Kuvira, what you're askin' of me...It's a mighty high price to pay."

"It's a small one, once you consider its benefits. Having those bandits eradicated will provide security and trade for your town, for one thing."

"I suppose, but...hmf." He puts his good hand to his chin, thumb and forefinger stroking his impressive whiskers thoughtfully.

"Alright. You got me."

Kuvira nods in agreement, and Baatar almost grins with relief.

"Thank you, Mr Cao. Rest assu-"

"I wasn't finished." The Secretary-General blinks.

"Oh. I apologise."

"You ask for plenty, Miss Kuvira," Cao states as he gently folds his reading glasses, placing them in a small case. "Plenty enough to make me almost regret inviting you and your posse over here. But I'm a desperate man, and these are desperate times. I'll sign this deal, but you've gotta do something for me first. Something very, very important."

* * *

 

The ringleader's sent whirling back from the force of the cane, holding his jaw as he slams into his buddy, who yelps as he's knocked back into the guy behind _him_ , and as they collapse in a cursing pile of limbs a hand reaches out and accidentally drags the fourth bandit into the heap on the floor.

Chong springs into action, leaping off his stool and in front of Qiang, fists raised in front of him in a guard position, bouncing from foot to foot in case he needs to dodge a barrage of rocks. Qiang has begun to make his way to the door; despite his initial assault stunning the barbarians into near-submission, he's useless in any form of protracted fight.

One of them extracts himself from the pile of men, grunting as he pulls out his jian and rushes towards Chong with it. The secretary sidesteps a horizontal slash, throwing his arm up to prevent another sweeping blow from the sword. He suddenly loops his arm around the bandit's sword hand and pulls up, jerking it with enough force to make the bandit drop his weapon. As the biker's eyes widen in panic, Chong slams the edge of his palm straight into his opponent's neck, knocking him out instantly.

He lets the biker slump against the counter as he ducks under a stone fired by the earthbender of the group, who slams a military surplus mallet into the floor. A pillar of earth bursts out of the floorboards, providing cover for the bender as he smashes chunks towards Chong with the hammer. The secretary is forced to leap over the counter, crouching as he takes refuge from the barrage of rocks. The air fills with the sound of shattered bottles.

The barrage stops as another man with a single-edged dao mounts the counter, slamming the blade at the space that Chong's head was occupying moments ago. He rolls out of the way of the attack, righting himself into a crouch as the barbarian tries to pull the weapon free from the wood. He manages to pull it out just as Chong's fist collides into his nose. The two men go down in a cursing tangle of limbs.

Chong's on top and he straddles the man's waist, punching one-two-three into the biker's face. The man grabs his hips and rolls over, pitching him onto his side as the bandit scrambles onto his knees, punching the secretary in the stomach and receiving a kick to his throat in reply. The staff sergeant pushes himself up and throws himself on top of his stunned opponent, slamming his head into the floor again and again, before he raps the man's thought chakra as if he was knocking on a door.  As the biker groans in agony, clutching his forehead, Chong hears the sound of the double doors slamming open.

He rises from the safety of the bar counter as he hears the throaty roar of motorcycle engines outside and he vaults over the counter, bursting through the doors to see the other two bikers atop their chrome and steel mounts, gunning their engines as they prepare to race off into the distance.

"You may have won this time, chi blocker boy, but don't forget," the ringleader shouts as his partner rips out a chunk of sun-baked road, "we'll be comin' back for our boys! And this time, we ain't gonna play around! Gombo's comin' for y'all, and this town's gonna burn!"

The secretary rolls to the left as the stone comes hurtling towards him, gasping as it slams into his shoulder. He's sent sprawling onto the road, the fading cackles of the bikers accompanying it as they zoom off into the distance, their Satocycles throwing up clouds of dust.

While his arm hurts as if it's been hit by a truck, he's relieved to find nothing broken, and he pushes himself up to see Qiang limping in front of a squad of Unificators and plainclothes policemen with wide-brimmed hats and moustaches to rival Qiang's whiskers. The elderly, whiskered man offers a hand to Chong as the squad rush into the bar, dragging out the unconscious forms of the bikers as they bend metal wires around their hands, restraining them.

"Thank you," Chong says as the older man helps him up. Qiang smiles as a response, turning and accepting his cane from a nearby soldier. He grasps it by the metal handle, paying no mind to the stains that dot its tip.

"The other two made a run for it. Sorry, sir, but it looks like Gombo knows we're here now."

"Good. That's exactly what we want." He chuckles at the bemused expression that he gets from the secretary.

"It's a long shot, and it may not work, but if we aggravate him enough he'll be forced to act. And that's when we'll get him. Come on, we need to return to the train. The Secretary-General has returned, and she has news for us."

* * *

 

The Inner Circle has once again convened, sitting around the beautiful art deco table in Conference Room C, sipping glasses of lemon water as everyone looks towards the Secretary-General, who stands in front of a map, the Unified territory covered with light green pieces of metal shaped to each region. Three pieces of the lacquered metal float in the air as she lazily bends them in place, currents of chi slowly rotating them on the spot. Chong sits at the corner next to a typewriter, ready to transcribe the meeting and file it away into a place where it will never see the light of day.

"Members of the Inner Circle," begins Kuvira, her speech underlined by the tap-tap-tap of the typewriter, "we have a...situation on our hands."

"By now, you're all aware of what happened in the saloon. While I'm glad we have some of them under our custody, it won't be long before they try and get their men back from the town's jail."

"So? We have more than enough metalbenders to deal with them!" Varrick indicates at the conveniently timed squad of Unificators that march past the window with clockwork precision. "Just set up some barricades and metalstorm them. Easy as pie!"

"That's why I've called you here. See, under international law we're not allowed to quarter troops here unless we get written permission from the landlords, and Mr Cao refuses to sign our Unification treaty."

"What? That's preposterous, completely absurd! Can't he see that we're helping him with his Gombo problem?"

"Trust me, I'm every bit as confused as you are, Varrick. However, he is willing to sign the treaty, but only if we do something for him first." She flicks her wrist, scattering the map pieces onto the table.

"These are the three regions that Gombo is believed to be operating in. This one," she says as she lifts up the smallest piece, "is Mei. And this," she lifts up an unremarkable piece with a small horn of land jutting out from it, "is Hulin. Currrently, we're in Qingao." She lifts up the final piece, a large, crescent moon-shaped peninsula, and she slots them into their place on the map; a massive peninsula that's only three provinces out from the capital.

"Qingao has been hit the hardest, and Mr Cao cannot do much without the assistance of the other two provinces. Our job is to get them to sign the agreement. Only then will he sign it, and we can do this legally."

"Well, that sounds easy enough," Bolin interjects. "Why don't we mount up in this big thing and head over to the provinces' capitals? We should have this wrapped up by the end of the day!"

"It's going to be harder than that. From what the mayor's told me, the highest-ranking officials in both provinces are nasty pieces of work. Ms Zhang is working alongside Gombo, if the rumours are to be believed. And Mr Chan's intent on making Hulin into his very own feudal kingdom. Getting the mayors and the provinces to work with us is going to be very difficult."

"And what about Huaxi?" Qiang raises his voice over the typewriter's clacking, his great muttonchops quivering. "Surely we can't leave them at the mercy of the bikers. And we know they'll come back."

"I managed to get Cao to relent a little when it came to stationing troops. He'll let us keep a platoon of men here."

"A platoon? Kuvira, I need every single man and woman on this train if I'll want a fighting chance against the Chrome Horde! I'll probably need the rest of my forces too!"

"I've thought about that as well. Varrick, Zhu Li, I trust Project Hermit is nearing completion?"

"You bet! In fact, I already have a few working prototypes!"

"Excellent. Could you get them operational within the next twelve hours?"

"Sure! Just climb in and they start working!"

"Good. You and Project Hermit will stay here in Huaxi with Qiang."

"What." Both men exclaim simultaneously.

"No complaining!" She orders with a smirk. "You both know what you signed up for. Besides, you'll thank me once you see Project Hermit, Qiang. Now, recall the men. Qiang, choose your best men, and make sure to include some nonbenders amongst them. Varrick, activate as many prototypes as you can, and teach the nonbenders how to pilot them."

"Should be easy enough."

"...I suppose I can spare a squad."

"Excellent. Qiang, start preparing for their counter-attack. Co-ordinate with Cao's men. They're used to dealing with low-level attacks, so they know what works best against them."

"Everyone else, you're with me."

"Er, begging your pardon, ma'am, but what exactly are we doing?"

Kuvira smiles, holding up a piece of map, gripped tightly in her chi.

"We're going to pay a visit to Ms Zhang."

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The train gives a great whistle as it leaves the station. Qiang watches them leave, silently acknowledging that for the foreseeable week or so, he and his platoon are on his own. Defending an entire town against hordes of cycle-savages with eighty men? This is almost as bad as Black Sun.

Well, he's not entirely alone. Varrick's waving a lazy goodbye to the _Liberator_ , a hand in one pocket as Zhu Li stands behind him attentively. Fat lot of good those two civilians will do.

"Well, we're wasting precious time by standing around here doing nothing," Varrick announces cheerfully. "Qiang, how about I take you on a personal, no-holds-barred demonstration of Project Hermit."

"Why not. That's the reason the Secretary-General left me to babysit you, after all." The Southerner laughs heartily at that, wrapping his arm around the ancient man's shoulders as they stroll towards the field the entrepreneur has requisitioned for his project.

"Trust me, you'll absolutely love it. I guarantee, 100 per cent VGI promise that you've never seen anything like it in warfare."

"Try me. I've seen plenty. Ah, who's this?"

Mr Cao meets them halfway towards their destination, outside the saloon. He's got his hands in his pocket and a white leather hat that hides his eyes from the all-seeing sun.

"Mr Cao! Glad to see you! How are your boys doing preparing the defences?"

"We've cordoned off some of the smaller side roads. The bandits like to ride through those, gives them a thrill and a chance at a flankin' manoeuvre. We've got some bunkers along the main streets, and your metalbenders are workin' wonders in reinforcing the key infrastructure of the town." He smiles affectionately at a pair of Unificators as they work to cover the foundations of the saloon in thin sheet metal, insulating it against any sort of fire attacks the bandits might try.

"So Mr Iknik. I hear you got some secret weapons in my park?"

"Yes! And I'm showing them off to you! That is, if you want to see them!" The mayor chuckles at that.

"I'd like nothin' more."

"Great! Follow me!"

Five minutes later, they've arrived at the dry,  miserable excuse for a park where Varrick's been fine-tuning the prototypes. A great tent has been erected in the centre, almost as tall as a big top. When they walk into the outer entrance, Varrick passes around a bottle of clear liquid.

"Ethanol rub! Kills anything it touches almost instantly! I use it to ensure I don't get anything nasty into my machines! Just don't use it as mouthwash. I learnt that the hard way." They progress into the main chamber of the tent, and both Qiang and Cao share a gasp.

There's a huge metal man in front of them, hanging limp from a series of metal wires and tubes that connect to a frame connected above and around the huge device. It has opened like a flower, revealing a padded interior that a soldier can easily stand in. There's control devices mounted in the hands themselves, switches and pressure pads lining the gloves. A huge diesel engine is strapped to the back, wires and tubes running into ports all over the machine.

"This, my fellow warriors, is the VGI Type 44 'Hermit' Mechanized External Combat Harness Mark 0.76! Or the MECH, for short!"

"Wow," utters Mr Cao. Qiang gives a low whistle; despite his smarmy attitude, Varrick was right. He's never seen anything like this before.

"It's built of a platinum-steel alloy of my own invention; tough enough to stand most bending and non-bending attacks yet is completely unbendable! It's powered by petroleum at the moment, although I plan to change it as soon as I can! It has all sorts of goodies strapped onto it!"

"Such as?"

"Well, why don't I show you in person? Zhu Li! Get in the MECH!" 

"Yes, sir." Zhu Li clambers into the suit, locking her feet into place and resting back into the machine, fingers outstretched as she covers all the pads in the gloves. Varrick flips a switch, and the suit seals itself around his assistant, a single yellow eye  flaring into life where her face should be. She flexes her fingers as Varrick disengages the frame, and the MECH falls to the ground, landing upright and balanced on her feet.

"All systems are nominal, sir," the assistant blares out of speakerphones mounted in the MECH's chassis. "Proceeding to testing range."

"Great! Come on, let me show you what this thing can do!"

They walk outside, and are greeted by the sight of another six MECHs, Unificators with brown armbands standing to rigid attention beside the inert mechs . Zhu Li strides into the middle of the group of suits as Varrick pulls out an acoustic megaphone.

"Alright everyone, listen up! Welcome to the first MECHpilot lesson ever held in the history of man! You've all been selected because of your expert reflexes, or your ability to not press every button you see, or maybe your haircuts, I don't know! What I do know is that once this crash course lesson is over, you'll all be sufficiently skilled enough to beat up a host of bikers before meeting your end! Remember; what damage you do to the suits will be repaired out of your wages!"

"The MECH is a versatile and powerful combat tool! Not only does it make you look really, really scary, it also makes you a walking target for everyone with a modicum of common sense! Luckily I thought about that! As such, the MECH is very, very flexible. Zhu Li! Do the thing!"

Zhu Li performs a wide variety of manoeuvres, backstepping and somersaulting like a gymnast. She even enters a firebending routine at one point, hopping from foot to foot as she pirouettes and kicks and punches, performing the doragon-dansu like a natural.

"But that's not all! There are also a wide variety of doodahs and gadgets that I've strapped onto these things!" Qiang raises his hand.

"What sort of doodahs are we talking about?"

"Zhu Li! The flamethrower!"

The assistant rotates her left fist clockwise as she brings up the corresponding arm, and a small metal cylinder pops out of the arm's chassis, a pilot light guttering at the edge of the barrel. Any doubts that her small audience might have about its purpose are dispelled when a ten metre geyser of burning fuel ejects out of the barrel. She stops the flow as soon as it starts, bringing her arm down as she performs the activation movement in her right arm. A Satocoil pops out of this arm, concentric rings surrounding a pillar of steel, an small orb of metal at its tip.

"The arc discharger!"

The hand clenches, and a moment later a bolt of lightning shoots out of that barrel, transforming a nearby fence into a rain of burning splinters. The weapon retreats into the confines of the armature, and she braces the suit, clenching her fists tightly.

"Jealous of the URN's signature police force? Be envious no longer!"

A pair of thick steel cables shoot out of each arm, embedding themselves into the dirt. Another gesture, and they whip out of the ground with a _krack_ , coiling back into their holsters at lightning speeds.

"These are just the basic combat attachments!" Varrick's eyes twinkle with glee as he watches the grins of the soon-to-be pilots stretch further and further. "Even if I stripped away all the cool gizmos on your MECHs, you'd still have enough power to punch a hole through 15 centimetres of reinforced concrete! You can keep up a 25 mph jog in these things! They're fully resistant to every single type of bending attack; earth, fire, water, even metal benders are no match for the MECH! It even comes with a little storage compartment under the engine so you can keep your lunch nice and fresh!"

"Yes sir-ree," he says as Zhu Li deactivates her mech, stepping out and wiping the sweat off her brow, "the MECH is going to completely revolutionise combat as we know it! The best military invention since the Satobomber! Any questions?"

Cao's hand shoots up into the air.

"Can benders use them?"

"At the moment, no. The problem that we've found is that benders accidentally release their chi while fighting, which causes no small amount of problems, especially for firebenders. Metalbenders can't do anything; even the slightest movement by them will rip the internal mechanisms to shreds. Don't worry," he adds, noticing the worried looks of the pilots, "the platinum alloy protects and insulates the more bendable metals from any chi-based attack!"

Another hand shoots up from one of the pilots.

"What's the operating time of the machines?"

"Eight hours if you don't activate any of the cool bits! Five hours if you do! Afterwards, you're gonna need some gas!"

Another hand.

"How do you pilot one of these things?"

"Well, that's very easy. Walk normally, and the suit walks with you! All the gadgets are utilised by hand motions, something that my assistant will instruct you all in as soon-"

A siren begins to sound. The air is clogged with the noise of whistles and barked orders as soldiers assume positions at their barricades. Varrick looks at the worried faces of the pilot and grins like a wolf.

"Well, would you look at that! It turns out that your lesson is going to have to be a live-fire one! I apologise for the inconvenience, but there really is nothing like a 'simulated scenario' to stress test my products! Zhu Li! Teach these chu-em, 'MECH aces', how to suit up and move around, and I'll meet you at the front! Remember what I said about damages!"

As Varrick strides back into his tent and emerges with a clipboard and a pair of binoculars, Cao gives a short bark of laugh.

"Your friend's as mad as an ostrich mare. Come on, we'd better do as he says and meet up with your boys. I wouldn't want to miss this for anything else in the world!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>    
> So I was struggling with an idea for this next story arc, and I was helping some friends of mine write a piece of sci-fi and was struck with a completely madcap idea: what if Avatar was actually a Western but also Mad Max?
> 
> This storyline is the result. The Wild East's a harsh place, and it's gonna take all of the Unificator's mettle to deal with the big bad Gombo and his madboy raiders.
> 
> The aesthetic of the raiders is much like Mad Max; ramshackle, vehicles covered in impromptu weldjobs and customisations, skeletons and gorier bits draped over the bonnets to tell their foes that they don't fuck around. They hardcore. The motorbikes are Satocycles, customised to hell and back;  go look up hotrod motorbikes and cross them with the results of looking up dieselpunk motorbikes.
> 
> Also, MECHS! Because I had to introduce the prototypes of what will become the actual mechs we see in Season 4. These prototypes can be visualised as follows: take the Empire mechs and stick a fuckoff huge engine on its back, exposed components and belts, a pair of exhausts belching smoke into the sky. Sounds like a washing machine with a brick thrown in it.. Also, while the mechanisms of the arm weapons are internalised, the fueltank/engine are not. Wires run out of the back and into these things which are mounted on the back.
> 
> (Fun fact: one of the named characters I've introduced in this chapter is actually in the cartoon series. Guess who.)
> 
> As always, I feed off reviews like a critic vampire. Please leave one if you feel so inclined :)
> 
> Next time in the Wild Wild East: can Clint Eastwood save the girl from the evil rancher Kuvira save the regions from the machinations of the evil Gombo, and the greedy mayors?


	7. For a Fistful of Yuans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is what they've been training for; fighting for the security of the Kingdom against those who would seek to tear it down into tiny pieces, fighting for the future and the name of their great homeland. They will die for this belief if they have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A.N. One thing I forgot to clarify was that Baatar hasn't had his hair done in the military cut style we see in Season 4. He's still got that dorky thick black hair. Also, a gun is not something that goes bang, it's a name for a type of staff. Also like I said, the MECHs we see here are nothing like the MECHs in Season 4. They're covered in wires and have huge engines on their back for one thing
> 
> Also old story literally a year old as of next month don't expect any updates after this (maybe iunno)

The first thing that Bolin notices when he steps off the train is just how _busy_ the town is.

Granted, it's nothing compared to the bustling metropolises of the more verdant west, but when your only comparison for miles are either the burnt out ruins of raided villages or the sleepy, terrified towns that remain, Dingcun is a vast city. People step aside to let the Secretary-General and her partner pass, Bolin following in their shadows. Chong elected to remain on board the train; compiling the minutes of the Circle is an arduous task, and he's already had more than his fill of excitement from the previous visit to Huaxi.

The other thing that he notices, as they walk out of the exit and onto the stone stairs that lead down to the main street, is how _calm_ everyone is. The locals of the tri-state area have all either been in a state of panic or have locked themselves away with supplies and weapons, hoping to ride out the storm and emerge untouched from the hurricane of violence that sweeps the area. Here, it's just like any ordinary city; a peaceful, neutral calm with that omnipresent undercurrent of crime and threat. The fact that this feeling exists here in what is effectively a warzone worries Bolin. Something's not right.

He looks over at Kuvira, who's busy checking a large map held in between two posts, attempting to find the City Hall, using the station (conveniently circled with 'YOU ARE HERE' in big yellow characters) as a reference.

"So where are we off to now, Kuvira, ma'am?"

"We need to have a little chat with the mayor of this town," she replies without turning her head, staring intently at the map in an attempt to decipher its secrets. "If we can get her to sign a copy of the Unification Proclamation, we'll have an easier time with these bandits. Problem is, we think she's working with the bandits. You were awake during the briefing, right?"

"Yeah, er-yes, Kuvira, ma'am."

"Good. Then I don't need to explain the situation to you again. Baatar, come over here, I need some help." The Beifong stops analysing his notepad, folding it away and holstering it in his pocket as he comes up to Kuvira's side.

"What's the matter?"

"Can you see the City Hall on this thing? I think the illustrators left it out. Honestly, how much does a city need to pay to get dece-"

"It's right here, dear," Baatar smirks as he rests his finger at a large building two blocks away from the bottom left corner of the map, the characters for "CITY HALL" scrawled onto it. Bolin doesn't quite manage to quell a snort of laughter as his employer folds her arms, rolling her eyes at the behaviour of the two men.

"Very funny. You know that I'm awful with maps, Baatar," she replies with a suppressed grin.

"The key to success is having an open pair of eyes, Kuvira."

"I guess that's why your grandmother was always terrible when she took us camping."

Baatar snorts out a giggle as Bolin chuckles, mouth over his hand, struck dumb by Kuvira's jibe. She shares in the resulting laughter that echoes between the three of them, and she moves in to kiss Baatar on the lips, pushing into the engineer with a force that's irresistible to him. They lose themselves in each other's embrace for one precious second that, to them, stretches on for hours.

Bolin smiles at their affection, a surprising undertone of sadness marring his grin; he's reminded of how much he misses Opal when he sees his employers behave like young lovers. _Man, how long does basic airbending training take anyway? I should request home leave when we're finished here. I haven't seen her in ages. Pabu as well. And Mako._

The most powerful couple in the country break apart, smiling, Kuvira looking down bashfully as she readjusts her metal nodowa and the cloth underneath it. Baatar ruffles the back of his thick black hair, pushing up his glasses as he turns his attention to Bolin.

"Let's get going, yeah?" the retainer says. "As much as I'd like to leave you two alone, I don't think we'd please the boss of this town if our excuse for lateness is."

"Yes," Baatar replies, straightening his collar as he double checks the position of the City Hall on the map. "Hopefully, we're not late for our appointment."

The couple link hands as they start walking to the mayor's office, ignoring the stares and the occasional camera flash they receive from the bemused public, refusing to relinquish the grip until they arrive outside Ms Zhang's door.

* * *

 

The bikers roar with bloodlust and glee as they rocket towards the town, swinging bolas and makeshift guns around their heads as they push the throttles of their rides to their limits, rubber wheels squealing in protest as their petrol engines cough out huge clouds of smoke. The bikes themselves are as individual as their riders; paintjobs, scythed wheels, vicious hooks attached to the ends of chains that their riders use to drag their victims for miles across the scorched plains. You can always tell who the leader of a pack of Hordesmen is; look for the bike with the most crimson-stained bones.

The bikers themselves are a garish sort; skeleton-white tattoos on sun-tarred skin gives them a spectral air. Mohawks, ponytails, goatees waxed to fine points and dyed with lime green, lemon yellow, neon purple, red the colour of fresh gore. They all have broken teeth and badly healed noses. Some wear bandannas that have rictus grins stitched into them. Others wear green goggles that glow even in the harsh daylight of the summer sun. A few, those lieutenants and captains of the Chrome Horde, have the symbol of the lotus branded into their shoulders, crimson ink scratched into the scar tissue while the wound was still fresh.

They act as the outriders for a column of what can be very loosely described as armour; trucks covered in crudely riveted, graffiti-marked plates, spiked rams welded onto the fronts of the huge diesel engines of the rides. The insides are filled with angry motor-barbarians, juiced up on a rancid mixture of hatred and cactus juice. They brandish guns and daos and handfuls of crushed rock, which can be transformed into razor-sharp kunais and lobbed at their foes with great accuracy. Some carry waterskins. Others carry nothing at all.

There's plenty of different raiders in this group; Gombo is nothing if not an equal-opportunity employer. Earthbenders and nonbenders picked from the remnants of petrol-hordes belonging to those foolish enough to challenge the Scourge in open battle, ex-privateers of waterbender pirate ships sailing the Eastern Sea, even a couple of Ozai Society members who decided to overlook the fact that they were in the definite minority. Any excuse to practise the old ways.

Inside the town, the occupants prepare for battle. Corpsmen from the Unificators in their green and olive uniforms, their signature bucket helms and cloth masks put the finishing touches to a series of pitfalls and barricades that they hope to any spirits that will listen will stop their foes in their tracks. Neat piles of stones are torn out of the roads, piled into foxholes and bunkers and buildings that have had their foundations fireproofed. Radios are set up, wires trailing across the battlefield into a massive device capable of radioing the absent Secretary-General for help, if it should come to that. Metalbenders bump canteens and remove the chemical filters on their masks, checking and double checking that every layer of their domaru plate is attached firmly, ready to be stripped into shavings and propelled through bandits. Others fasten huge spools of metal wire to their waists, ready to pull them out and smash entire columns of bikers into ruin. This is what they've been training for; fighting for the security of the Kingdom against those who would seek to tear it down into tiny pieces, fighting for the future and the name of their great homeland. They will die for this belief if they have to.

The militiamen aren't fighting for a belief, an ideology. They're fighting for their homes, and that makes them more dangerous than their professional colleagues. They dig out old family heirlooms, weapons from the Hundred-Year-War, hunting tools and strap them on their backs. Bows, spears, jians, mallets. One man even has a huge double-handed war hammer which he carries like a stick.

In a small park five blocks away from the main front, Zhu Li finishes instructing the six new MECH pilots in how to move without losing one's balance, how to brace yourself for the booming kick of the arc thrower, how to jump and spin like a bender in a suit that weighs nearly a tonne, and they - slowly, careful now - begin to march to points General Qiang has designated, a place where they can cut off the raiders as they wheel around, to have them collide smack dab into a moving wall of fire and lightning and steel and pure technological might. Their diesel engines rattle like dying Satomobiles, smoke coughing out of the huge exhausts mounted on the backs of the MECHs.

From a command centre set up inside the saloon, Qiang peers at the approaching column of dust through a pair of binoculars. Mr Cao does the same next to him with an ornate telescope, his spear resting in the crook of his arm. Behind them, the long-range communications array sits on the counter, wires trailing into it as operators unplug and plug various lines into the device, barking orders into microphones and rushing around with pieces of order-covered paper.  Varrick watches with amusement from atop the saloon, sipping a glass of dilute cactus juice as he ensures that a tripod-mounted camera has a view of the entire battle. He stands to make a profit from the video demonstration of his MECHs, and he knows it.

As the cloud approaches their positions, Qiang signals an adjutant.

"Relay the following to Roosters 1 through to 5. Tell them to pull back to Waypoint Snake. Let them think that we're running scared." The NCO salutes and strides over to the great machine as Cao smiles.

"Here they come. Now the fun begins," he smirks as the bikers cross the town borders.

* * *

  
Even if Mr Cao was completely wrong about his colleague, he was right in the fact that there was something suspicious going on. They hadn't even met Ms Zhang, and already they could see the signs of something else, going on behind the scenes.

For one thing, the interior decor. Where Cao's office was falling to pieces, threadbare and disused, Ms Zhang's office was every bit as ornate as the one belonging to the UR President. Plush green carpets, beautiful woven tapestries depicting the ancient story of Wan, walls papered with an intricate gold pattern in the shape of the seal of the Earth Kingdom, plump down cushions resting on lounges that look like Hundred-Year War antiques. Bolin gives a low whistle as they step through the lacquered wooden door; not even the gorgeous dining room in Suyin's mansion is as ornate as this.

And there's Ms Zhang smiling politically from behind her steepled manicured hands, with her crisp plaid suit that's been freshly ironed and laundered, and a small white kerchief neatly folded in a pen protector. Her black hair is done up in a ponytail, and gold earrings with inset emeralds glitter in the midday sun that shines through the windows of her office. She is in every possible way the complete opposite of the rugged, elderly mayor they met in Huaxi. She rises from her chair, sticking her hand out as Kuvira grasps it tightly, shaking it with a little more force than needed.

"Welcome to Dingcun, Secretary-General," Zhang says in a clipped Chenyaoan tone as the four of them sit down in their beautiful chairs. "I do hope you'll enjoy your stay."

"Thank you," Kuvira replies politely. "I take it you know why I'm here?"

"Of course." The Unificator turns to her retainer.

"Bolin, do you have the Proclamation?"

"Yes, ma'am!" He produces a slightly crumpled piece of yellow paper from his pocket, unfolding it and handing it to Ms Zhang, who accepts it with a deft smile, as if she's received an unwanted New Years' present. Producing a quill (plucked from the feathers of a songbird), she analyses the document as if she's studying a particularly interesting species of insect that has landed in her food.

"Miss Kuvira," she replies disarmingly, "your Proclamation is very...ah, nice. But I cannot bring myself to sign it."

"I see." Kuvira's expression is stone-cold. "And that reason is?"

"Well...ah, you ask for a lot. Swearing allegiance to you? Placing my troops under your command? Trade regulation? Investigation into my financial records? It's too much."

"It's worth it, when you consider the benefits you'll get from being under our protection. I hear that you've been having problems with raiders lately."

"Yes, well, I believe that they're not too much of an issue for me to sign this at the moment. They've been quiet lately."

"What?" Bolin speaks up in anger. "I'm sorry, did you say they were being quiet? They've been taking out entire villages! One of our top generals was nearly assassinated by them! What sort of world do you live in where you think they're being quiet? They're being really, really loud!" Zhang turns towards him, a grimace plastered on her face.

"What nonsense are you talking about? The raiders are nothing. My forces are capable of handling them adequately. I don't need your assistance, grateful as I am for the offer."

"So what if your region is safe? Your neighbours are dying! Gombo is tearing them to pieces!" Bolin stands up, pointing a finger at Zhang in accusation. "We need your men, Ms Zhang! They can help us stop this guy before he comes for you, and then probably the rest of the Kingdom, but mostly you!"

"And why should I care about what happens to my neighbours? My men certainly do not care what happens to a backwater hovel and a makeshift autocracy. Why should they die for their sake? The deal will not go signed. It was truly a pleasure having you in my humble state," she claims as she kowtows towards Kuvira, "but you have overstayed your welcome. Please, return when you have drafted a more...ah, agreeable terms of conditions."

Bolin's mouth hangs open, shocked at the complete disregard that Zhang displays for Cao and their own men. Baatar's jaw tightens as he stands up, about to deliver a verbal tirade strong enough to make his grandmother blush. Kuvira holds up a hand towards them, and Baatar stops his lecture in its tracks. _She's got this._

The two men watch from the safety of their chairs as Kuvira strolls behind the mayor, who's visibly squirming in her seat. She closes her eyes, obviously at ill ease with the course of action she's about to take.

"I don't think you understand neither the significance of the situation nor just how much trouble you're in, Ms Zhang," she spits out as her eyes open, blazing with fury and a collected authority, the expression of a leader determined to set things right at any cost. "So, allow me to enlighten you about what happens to those who fraternize with mass-murderers." She shows no expression as the blood drains out of Zhang's face.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about, don't you?”

Zhang rises from her chair without warning, rushing past the table in her hurry to escape the sudden threat pose by the three angry Unificators in the room with her.

She almost makes it to the door as well, before strips of metal slam around her wrists and ankles, another sealing her mouth shut. Kuvira brings her hand back, fingers forming the shape of a talon, and the mayor is slowly dragged into her chair, the metal forcing her to sit down as it embeds itself in the expensive seat. Her eyes roll with terror as Kuvira looms over her; she is the picture of absolute dominance.

"Now I don't care when or how you started working for Gombo," she begins in a furious voice that Bolin has never heard her use before. "What I care about is that you are putting innocent lives in danger, and I'm going to get you to stop. All you need to do is listen, very, very carefully."

* * *

 

The command centre is a hive of activity, junior officers and signallers shouting requests at each other as three Corpsmen bark commands in military codes down into receiver sets, a network of orders travelling down wires and into the ears of panicked NCOs who duck and cover as squadrons of bandits buzz past on scooters and Satocycles, lobbing rocks and homemade grenades into bunkers and buildings. Qiang sits at the centre of this frenetic hub of activity like a spider on their web, directing squads to fall back and advance, to lay down traps and to wait in ambush, to support a straggling MECH as truck tries to run it over. His body may be broken, but his mind is equal to the greatest sages. A lifetime of war has honed his skills to savant-like levels, and he is in absolute control.

 A house burns to ash in the light of the setting sun, smoke and memories drifting away in the black smoke as metalbenders and townsfolk with guns and wide-brimmed hats knock raiders off their mounts and beat them into whimpering pulps, the staffs and whips rising over their heads and coming down, up and down, over and over, silhouetted against the flickering flames like shadow puppets. A flatbed truck lies on its side, the cloth roof lying limp as raiders spill out of the bus screaming bloody murder and vault over earth walls, the four elements of earth, water, fire and dao at their sides while they plunge them towards wide-eyed idealists and settlers who desperately try to raise their weapons in time to deflect the attacks.

From his vantage point on the roof, Varrick grins as he rotates the camera, drinking in the sight of two opposing earthbenders as they pirouette and jump like dancers, flipping and spinning as they manipulate their chi into the soil, rocks flying and smashing into pieces on the fists of the benders. The way that they fight is beautiful; it's like something out of those masked plays that the Fire Nation are so fond of. He zooms in when the Corpsman ends the dance and instead chooses to tackle the bandit after stunning her with a rock to the head, brutally punching the girl's face over and over as he pins her to the ground with his weight, his face unreadable behind his cloth mask, refusing to stop even when his opponent's arms slacken and splay into the dust, fingers curling like a dead insect.

He'll make sure to cut that part out of the mover.

He takes another shot of the bitter juice as he pans the lens over to a crossroads, where one of his MECHs has gotten itself surrounded by a zooming swarm of bikes; it protects its face as chains, polearms, rocks and even the occasional burst of fire lash over the armoured shell. As he watches with satisfaction, the MECH sticks an arm out, a chain wrapping itself around it, tightening as the biker attempts to spin the suit off balance. Instead, the MECH grasps the metal link, sending a jolt of electricity large enough to seize their ride's engine, and the biker alongside it. The bandits scatter as the Type 44 deploys its flamethrower, scooting just out of range of the pressurised, burning fuel.

Varrick doesn't mind that it doesn't scorch a single rider. Burning people are always a negative factor when it comes to advertising, and he can always market the thrower attachment as crowd control.

 As he continues filming, the MECH triggers the servos on its legs, launching into the air and slamming into a rooftop, pushing itself upright as the raiders jeer at its apparent cowardice, a barrage of insults and rocks thrown towards the impassive metal man. They soon stop when metal wires cascade out of the arms of the suit and yank a couple of Hordesmen out of their rides, slamming them together like a pair of dolls before dropping them into the seething mass of chrome below.

Varrick raises his glass to that attack. Non-lethal and it demonstrated the cables perfectly! An excellent display for his advert.

The MECH's arc thrower pops out of its arm, crackling with energy as it throws a bolt of lightning towards the hooting bikers who scatter as it slams into the ground with a mighty crack, a column of dust rising from the impact site. It aims for another round, but grappling hooks shoot upwards from the orbiting bikers, wrapping themselves around the struggling suit as the steel horde below rev their engines and rush down the street, pulling the MECH down to earth with a bang loud enough for Varrick to faintly register it.  Men leap on top with sharp jis and heavy chuis, attempting to crack open the metal shell and rip out the pilot within. They do not expect the pilot to activate the point defence measures, electricity charging out of the prone suit and through the bodies of the raiders.

Fantastic! Another excellent display of the suit's in-built features! Varrick places a mental note to nab that soldier from Qiang's payroll. _I need all the decent pilots I can get! Zhu Li, machine though she is, can't possibly teach everyone how to drive these MECHs!_

_Oh wait. That is Zhu Li. Alright, new note: make sure that the visors have stronger hinges. Can't do with people ripping them off._

Varrick takes another shot of cactus juice as he watches the town burn, his feet up as he moves the camera away from Zhu Li's last stand, zooming in as a squad of metalbenders rush to support his assistant's MECH suit, flinging fletchettes and whips at the bandits who turn away from the smoke-belching prototype, whooping as they smack into the Corpsmen with a crash of metal on metal, and Varrick grins. Making propaganda has never been easier!

* * *

 

In all his fourteen months of service under the banner of the Unificators, Bolin has never seen Kuvira this angry.

Not even the rage she felt once she discovered the Dai Li were responsible for the bombing of her ceremony could top this rage. Not even the fury she possessed when that anarchist laughed  like a madman at the sight of his best friend dying in her father's arms can be measured to what she feels now.

She leans on the armrest of the chair that Ms Zhang is currently restrained in, an absolutely terrifying expression carved into her face as she stops to breathe mid-yell, her natural authority being magnified by her sheer anger towards the callous, cold, uncaring woman that sits quivering like a leaf in front of her. Bolin knows full well that if she didn't have an audience, Kuvira would be doing far worse than shouting to the corrupt official. He's uncomfortable at this anger, but Baatar seems to be dealing with this situation a lot better than him, leaning against the wall as he inspects his nails idly.

"...Do you have any idea, literally any idea how much damage you've caused to this region by accepting their bribes, Ms Zhang? Even if I were to take all the money out of the Royal Treasury and inject it into the tri-state area, it would not recover for at least half a century! We haven't seen destruction like this since the Hundred-Year War, and you're _financing_ them? How could you?"

"People are dying, Ms Zhang! Innocents, hundreds and hundreds of them lie dead in the fields because of your greed! Whole villages have been wiped off the map by these disgusting monsters and you tell me that you've been working with them? Shame on you. Shame on your government and, and you! Shame on you."

"Did you honestly think for just _one second_ that they wouldn't turn on you once they'd finished burning Hulin and Qingao into ashes? What were you thinking, accepting their money?! No, don't even attempt to answer that, because you weren't thinking, were you? _Were you?_ "

"How could you abandon them like that? So many people depend on your soldiers and your resources, and you just left them to die? What's wrong with you? _How could you?_ "

Zhang is like a mouse, shrinking away from the verbal violence that Kuvira directs towards her, trembling with fear. Bolin's less worried about the fury of his boss and more about the muffled gasps and tuts that come from behind the door after Kuvira finishes each sentence, and Baatar watches his girlfriend with a touch of concern. This is going too far.

"Kuvira, she's had enough," he says as he moves in between the two, folding his arms, attracting the ire of the Secretary-General.

"Stay out of this Baatar, this conversation is only between me and Zhang, do not-"

"She's had _enough_. Look at her, for spirits' sake. She looks like she's about to start crying."

Kuvira raises a finger as she starts towards Baatar, ready to berate him, _whose side are you on,_ but Bolin steps in at the last moment.

"Kuvira, please. You're scaring her. You're scaring me."

"I-"

" _Kuvira."_

And it seems that for one horrible second that she's going to disregard their warnings, that she's going to turn around back to Ms Zhang and carry on yelling at her or worse, skip the pleasantries and move straight to physical violence-

But the anger in her eyes falters, her sneer slackens, and she drops her hand. She inhales and exhales, calming herself, letting her chi flow through her, the ever-present whispering of the metal around her neck and body and arms soothing her as she lets go of her anger. She feels a lump forming in her throat as sadness rushes in to replace that horrible, traumatic, addictive mixture of white-hot rage and absolute control.

"Alright. Bolin, can you go and sort out the crowd outside? Get her assistant, vice mayor, whatever the title is, and bring them back to me. And take Ms Zhang with you," she orders as she flicks her wrist, the metal fletchettes wrapping around her limbs as the mayor collapses to the floor, sucking in a huge gasp of air while she rubs her wrists.

"Yes, ma'am." Bolin gives a salute as he offers the ex-mayor a hand, sharing a worried glance with Baatar as the two leave in silence. The door closes with a soft click, Bolin loudly and cheerfully asking the crowd to _please disperse, the big bosses have got some private things to say to each other, keep moving, down the stairs we go, say do you know where Ms Zhang's favourite assistant is-_

And soon enough the couple are left in silence, the soft rustle that marks Kuvira's controlled descent into the plush, cushioned chair of office the only sound that breaks the tranquillity of the room.  Baatar leans against the wooden table, hands gripping the edge of the desk as he stares at his partner, the supposedly unassailable Secretary-General, looking lost and ashamed with herself, resting her head in her hands.

"Do you want to talk about what happened back there?"

He doesn't get a reply, but he notices a small, almost imperceptible nod.

"Alright."

* * *

 

 Zhu Li grunts as a large rock impacts into her back, the force sending her shuffling forwards as she desperately tries to regain control of the MECH. Before she can fall flat on her face she lifts her foot and slams it into the ground, deploying wire cables that bury themselves into the ground and lock tight, stabilising her suit long enough for her to rebalance the device and letting it stand straight again.

She turns around, unleashing a gout of fire from her right arm that sends the bikers zooming back to safety, taunting her as they reach the edge of the thrower's range in time to dodge her attack, and she curses when she hears a muffled beeping sound come from a small speaker mounted in the collar. The flamethrower is beginning to run out of fuel, and she takes a step back as she engages her arc thrower. The squad that came to reinforce her has been hit badly, and she's covering their retreat. They stomp speed humps into the ground and throw up small barricades designed to knock a bike off the road, fletchettes returning to the fleeing metalbenders as Zhu Li shoots a bolt of energy at a Satocycle with a sidecar headed straight for them. The riders throw themselves free just as the lightning detonates their vehicle, the shockwaves from the blast sending them crumpling into the dust.

A blur registers itself in Zhu Li's vision, a split second before a rock crunches into her chest, knocking the wind out of her lungs as she's send teetering over onto the engine block, which shudders from the impact, belching out a cloud of smoke that sends her into a coughing fit. She tries to right herself up, scrambling back onto her knees just in time to take another blow to her shoulder. Zhu Li curses as she hears something shatter inside the arm, and begins swearing when a red light indicating that the arc thrower is non-functional starts to flash. These bandits were good. However, she isn't out yet.

Pulling herself onto her two feet, she shoots out a pair of metal cables from her left arm, grinning as she hears a bunch of men yell, steel rope wrapping around the back axle of their truck. She pulls her arm up, and the axle detaches from the vehicle, sending the rest of the truck careening and spinning out of control, bandits bailing out as the twisted wreckage comes to rest outside a post office. Another gesture and the cable lashes out to the left, sweeping Hordesmen off their feet, and she spins around and slingshots the axle directly into another approaching truck, the driver bailing out a split second before the axle crumples the windscreen like a drinks can.

She retracts the cables, aiming for the group of raiders that lurch dizzily out of the back of the van, when a rock smashes itself into her outstretched fist, crushing the cable ports permanently shut. Zhu Li groans in despair, turning around and sprinting into an alley, ignoring the jeers of the bandits as they speed towards her position. She curses even more when, out of the group of bandits that dismount and assume bending positions outside her, she spots a couple of firebenders. Normally she'd be fine dealing with them, but the loss of her helmet means that she is dangerously exposed to a well-aimed fireblast.

The outlaws take up offensive positions, brandishing their weapons and drawing upon their chi to manipulate the elements written into their veins, summoning fire that flickers in the palms of their hands or ripping out chunks of stone, the rocks levitating at their sides.  Moving into a wedge formation they advance towards the alley, the firebenders taking point, grinning savagely as their flames dance between their fingers. Zhu Li brings up her fists into a defensive posture, ready to lash out and punch the first outlaw she sees, but she knows it won't be enough. She'll be lucky if she can take down two of the bandits without any of the suit's gadgets and her head exposed. _There are worse ways to go, I suppose._

She steps forward, raising her arm just in time to diffuse a fireball that breaks on the metal armour, and she brings her other arm into a fist that collides into the firebender's gut with a satisfying crunch, and he falls to the ground breathless. yet she's left open for a rock that slams into her side, and she loses her balance. She's about to recover when another barrage of rocks and fire send her sprawling into the dust, head jerking forwards from the impact. Before she can pick herself up a bandit mounts her, legs straddling across her chest as she punches her in the face, raising a knife above her head. The razor-sharp metal flashes as brightly as her grin does in the midday sun, and she brings it down towards the assistant's throat.

It slices through the first layer of skin like nothing and it stays there, the knife's owner shuddering as a bolt of electricity pulses through her veins, toppling over onto her back while she convulses in pain. Tentatively, Zhu Li reaches for the knife, gently taking it off her neck and throwing it to the side. There's some blood, but nothing major's hit, thank the spirits. A MECH pilot gives her a thumbs up, face unreadable behind theirs helmet as they stomp over towards Zhu, offering a hand which she grasps with conviction, pulling herself up onto her feet.

"Good news, ma'am," the static-distorted voice of the pilot claims as it reverberates out of small loudspeakers embedded in the suit's collar, "the bandits have begun a retreat. We've won."

"That's...that's great."

"Ma'am? Are you alright?"

"I'm alright, sir. It's just that...they were winning. So why are they running away?"

Her radio crackles into life, startling her out of her reverie.

"Zhu Li," her employer's voice yells over the static of the battered communication device, "come meet me and the gang back at the saloon! Qiang has some important information he wants to tell us!" Zhu Li gestures to her fellow pilot to follow her as she begins walking towards the saloon, which has a large hole smashed into its side. Corpsmen and militiamen alike scurry through the wrecked building like fire ants, barking orders and carrying the wounded to M.A.S.H. tents that have been hastily erected outside.

"Yes, sir. What about the suit?"

"What about them? They were fantastic! Smashed through those bandits like a camelephant in a china ship! They'll look great on the mover! And before you ask about your damaged pieces, I can replace them easy peasy! Trust me, Zhu Li, these suits are gonna make Sato's mechatanks look as valuable as sand by comparison!"

"Very good, sir. What's the news about?"

"I don't know! Probably about the bandits running away. Qiang said that they were listening to some radios before they left with their tails between their legs. Who cares! I'm gonna be rich!"

"Sir, you are already the second wealthiest man in the world."

"Then I'll become the wealthiest!"

Zhu Li fiddles with a lever in the inside of the suit and it opens up, allowing the assistant to remove her straps and step out of the battered armour. She strolls into the saloon where Qiang sits cradling an arm injury, grim-faced as he hands a note to the local telegram operator who rushes to his booth. Cao's drinking a glass of dilute cactus juice, smiling like an idiot.

"Why the long face, General? We've won, they pulled out! Huaxi's safe!"

"I'm not worried about Huaxi," the ancient man replies, whiskers vibrating with the gravity of the situation. "They were winning, weren't they? Yet they pulled out. They were talking on their radios before they left, no?"

Cao nods, gingerly taking another shot of cactus juice.

"Well, so they were communicating with their leader, who obviously wants them somewhere else. So they're going to hit somewhere else. We can't do anything about it, not without the _Liberator_. All we can do is warn Kuvira; I've sent a telegram to Dingcun, but I don't think it's going to reach her in time before the bandits strike their target."

"And what's that going to be, sir?" Zhu li asks as Qiang stands up, looking gaunt in the shadows of the bar.

"I've run the numbers, and I've calculated, with 98% certainty, that the _Liberator_ is going to be hit mid-transit."


End file.
